


Seducing the Serpent

by summerofspock



Series: The Serpent and the Lady [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (but mostly porn with feelings), Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Bodice-Ripper, Courtly Love, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, Female Presenting Aziraphale, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Honestly just a lot of different sex acts, Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Kissing, Like full romance novel happy ending, M/M, Marriage, Medieval, Miscommunication, Original Character(s), Pegging, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Romance, Romance Novel, Semi-Public Sex, So much kissing, Some Plot, Tropes, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, epistolary chapter, fleabag voice: this is a love story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 59,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21566716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: After Crowley kisses him at the tourney, Aziraphale decides he wants to take their relationship to the next level.And so continues the romance of the Serpent and the Lady.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Serpent and the Lady [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554253
Comments: 1374
Kudos: 1884
Collections: Bittersweet Good Omens, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically, Our Own Side





	1. After the Tourney

**Author's Note:**

> beta'ed by @poetic-nonsense
> 
> Listen, if you're here from TSatL, you know what sort of world we're in. High romance. Courtly love. Swooning.

Aziraphale fussed with his skirt. Crowley had miracled away the stains he had left while he kissed the life out of Aziraphale but part of Aziraphale wished he hadn’t because then he’d have some proof that Crowley had kissed him. Proof that Crowley had tugged him against his body like he wanted to consume him. Just the thought made his heart race and his knees feel weak.

Forcing himself to look up, he watched as Walter went down the line of knights, awarding coin and praise. Sir John was first. He thanked Walter with a bow and then looked up at the stand to catch Aziraphale’s eye. There was a smattering of blood over his forehead from where a pommel—Crowley’s, Aziraphale was fairly certain—had connected with his temple. That didn’t stop him from smiling wholeheartedly at Aziraphale who was honestly surprised. He’d imagined John would be a bit of a sore loser—he seemed awfully proud—and yet there he was, still bright-eyed despite his literal browbeating. 

Crowley shifted in the seat next to Aziraphale, the wood creaking and drawing Aziraphale’s attention. “Old blue-eyes fancies you,” he said, staring out over the field and looking worse for wear.

It was part of the tourney, the winner seated next to the lord as the festivities drew to a close, but Crowley was clearly growing exhausted, probably from the effort and the fact that he was bleeding from his arm.

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale said with a little laugh. Not that Crowley had anything to worry about on that front. Aziraphale fancied Crowley and there weren’t enough beautiful blue-eyed men in the world to change that. It was quite nice to be able to admit that to himself. He probably should have done it sooner.

Feeling rather elated, Aziraphale turned back to face the yard just as Walter dismissed the lined-up knights. The crowds were already dispersing, moving to the tents for more food and ale. Soon the lords and ladies in attendance would retire to the castle for the banquet along with the local knights and now, Crowley. Who had said he would stay. He’d said it while looking Aziraphale in the eye as if to say, I’m staying for you.

“Perhaps we ought to go back,” Aziraphale said in a low voice. Crowley truly looked terrible. “Are you going to heal?”

Crowley scowled. “And what? Explain away my miraculous recovery? Unfortunately, I think I have to manage the old fashioned way.”

Aziraphale grimaced. He’d been in that position before. When he’d been working with King Arthur he’d had to heal from an awful stab wound without raising suspicion. “Perhaps you could heal them up just a little. I hate to think you’re going to suffer for the next while needlessly...” 

He reached out and laid his hand over Crowley’s. Crowley looked down at it blearily. “I’m not sure I could heal a paper cut right now. I think I could sleep right here if it wouldn’t cause a stir,” Crowley replied, words a bit of a blur.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows drew together. “Let’s get you back to the castle. I can patch you up for now.”

It wasn’t the first time they had helped each other with their injuries, cleaning wounds and setting breaks. It was truly shocking how often they ran into each other in battle. Several centuries ago, they’d learned their lesson about trying to use their powers on each other when Aziraphale had tried to heal Crowley’s broken arm but had made the situation even worse.

He helped Crowley stand on his unsteady feet. Emony stood as well, hovering at his side, all concern. “Is Sir Crowley alright?”

“I believe he just needs rest. And perhaps a few bandages,” Aziraphale said, trying to dispel her concern.

“I can get the surgeon,” Emony replied, still a aflutter. “He’s around here somewhere. Seeing to the other knights.”

“Oh I’d hate to take him away. I’m sure I can handle Crowley’s injuries.”

Emony’s eyes went wide. “I didn’t know you had such skills.”

“Oh yes, er.” Aziraphale floundered for a moment. “I studied under the surgeon my father employed.”

Emony still looked surprised but accepted the explanation, letting them pass as Crowley shuffled slowly behind Aziraphale.

After Crowley stumbled down the stairs, Aziraphale took his arm so he could lean his weight against him. Crowley tried to pull away. “‘M gonna get your pretty dress all dirty.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, suddenly thankful he’d followed Alice’s advice and worn the pink dress. “Don’t you worry about that.”

Though he did wonder how the fabric would hold up against a second miracle in under twenty-four hours. 

They made their way steadily to the castle, where Aziraphale decided to take Crowley to one of the many guest chambers down the hall from his own room. 

The stairs were the worst part of the journey. Crowley had grown even paler somehow, and with the way he was dragging his feet, Aziraphale became concerned they might not make it to a room before he fell asleep. 

“Just a bit further,” Aziraphale said, trying to sound as encouraging as possible.

Crowley grunted and continued to let himself be guided along. Aziraphale wondered briefly how Crowley would react if Aziraphale picked him up and carried him the rest of the way. Probably grouse for a century about being tossed around like a sack of grain.

When they finally reached an empty room, Crowley stumbled through and collapsed in the nearest chair, a sad old thing by the empty fireplace. Frowning, Aziraphale held him upright and said, “Open your eyes. I need you to stay awake.”

Crowley dragged his eyes open a fraction. “Remind me never to fight in a tourney again.”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said lightly. All of a sudden he was having difficulty looking Crowley in the eye. “You were very dashing.”

“Oh don’t go on about that now,” Crowley said, sounding embarrassed as he tried to sit up straight. Aziraphale began to tug on his mail, wanting to take it off so he could see the extent of Crowley’s injuries.

Crowley lurched to his feet and hunched his back, allowing them to pull the mail over his head together. It was heavy and blood stained and Aziraphale kicked it away without a qualm. Underneath, Crowley’s padded gambeson was ripped along the arm and under his right breast, the black fabric darker where blood had seeped into the padding.

Aziraphale reached for the clasps at the back and undid the first, letting the hook slip through the loop, the fabric parting and revealing the knob of Crowley’s spine. He was so very thin.

With one hand on Crowley’s hip to steady him, Aziraphale carefully undid the clasps of the jacket and pushed it forward off Crowley’s shoulders. He hissed when the fabric pulled away from the dried blood. The jacket hit the floor and then Crowley was standing in front of Aziraphale, face dirtied and pale, bare-chested and blood-stained. 

Crowley looked down at the cut on his ribs and frowned. “I thought that one would be worse.”

Aziraphale leaned over and inspected the cut. It was rather shallow, but the blooming bruise around it made Aziraphale certain the cut wasn’t the worst of the issue. “I think perhaps you have a broken rib.”

“Oh. That explains why it hurts to breathe,” Crowley said without a hint of irony and Aziraphale laughed even though the situation wasn’t very funny. Crowley would be fine, but he would certainly be uncomfortable. Aziraphale wanted to do everything he could to help with that.

“Perhaps you could heal that?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Maybe tomorrow. Not much I can do right now. Too tired,” Crowley admitted and then he poked at the bruise, hissing in pain. Aziraphale slapped his hand away.

“Don’t poke at it,” Aziraphale chided, hurrying to the sideboard to get the pitcher and basin, which he used his power to fill with water.

After setting them on the bedside table, Aziraphale moved the chair next to the bed and helped Crowley into it. “Now stay still.”

Crowley shot him a venomous look but stayed silent. He must truly be tired then.

Miracling up a bit of cloth, Aziraphale dipped it into the water and wrung it out. Watching for Crowley’s reaction—he wanted to keep the pain to a minimum—he carefully dripped water over the wound on his arm, wincing in sympathy when Crowley gritted his teeth. Soon enough, the blood from the wound ran pink and Aziraphale cleaned the surrounding skin as delicately as he could manage.

Once the dried blood was gone, Aziraphale could see bright flecks of metal stuck in the edges, evidence that some of the links of Crowley’s mail had shattered and found their way into the wound. Aziraphale looked at Crowley’s face, where his mouth was drawn and his eyes were glassy. Reaching out, Aziraphale placed a supportive hand on Crowley’s uninjured shoulder, drawing his attention back to him. “Are you doing alright?”

“Y’know, you could just put me to bed and let me heal tomorrow, you don’t need to go through all this,” Crowley said with an awkward wave of his hand as if to gesture at his injuries. 

“Hush,” Aziraphale admonished, rinsing out the rag. “Let me take care of you.”

At that, Crowley’s eyes fully opened and his brow furrowed. They’d cared for each other before, out of necessity, but this felt so entirely different. Crowley was beneath his hands, vulnerable and breath-taking and Crowley had _ kissed _ him earlier. Everything was different and Aziraphale hoped it would stay that way.

Heart racing in his chest, Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s cheek, forgetting that his fingers were wet until they smeared the dust on his face. Crowley’s lips parted on a soft, surprised exhale, and Aziraphale gave him a supportive smile. He took the rag and wiped away the trail of filthy water from one of Crowley’s cheeks and then the other, reveling in the soft pulse of Crowley’s breaths as they grew uneven. How had he spent so long willfully ignoring Crowley’s response to him? It had always been like this, hadn’t it? 

Pulling away with regret—Crowley was _ injured _, Aziraphale could kiss him later—Aziraphale turned his attention back to the cut on Crowley’s arm. He cleared his throat, which felt embarrassingly tight. “You have some metal in this cut. I’m going to have to take it out.”

Crowley’s jaw clicked shut as he ground his teeth. “Yeah, do your worst.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and prepared himself. With a pair of summoned surgeon’s tongs, he carefully picked out the shards of metal and stray woolen fibers that had sank into the cut from the gambeson. Crowley was still as a statue, hands tight on his thighs as Aziraphale worked.

“You’re doing beautifully,” Aziraphale murmured as he rinsed the wound a final time.

“Shut up,” Crowley said through gritted teeth. Aziraphale patted his hand indulgently and miracled some bandages.

He wound them efficiently and carefully around Crowley’s arm and, in some sort of romance-induced fugue, pressed a kiss to the final product—which had Crowley sucking in a breath as his whole body tensed.

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, who stared down at him, eyes locked for so long that Aziraphale ached with it. Color returned to Crowley’s pale cheeks as he searched Aziraphale’s face. For a thrilling moment, he was certain Crowley would kiss him, but the sensation passed quickly. To Aziraphale’s disappointment.

Aziraphale forced himself to stand and move on to clean the cut on Crowley’s chest, water gathering red as it ran down the flat plane of his stomach. Aziraphale’s hands were trembling as he carefully washed away the blood. This cut was much smaller than the wound on his arm and the work went faster, but it was more difficult to bandage, Aziraphale having to run his hands over Crowley’s chest, feel the soft down of his chest hair, ignore the growing heaviness in his own belly as he imagined touching Crowley’s body under other circumstances.

When the bandage was secured, Aziraphale stepped away and tried to get his breathing under control. He should not be feeling so flustered while Crowley was injured. He reminded himself that Crowley had agreed to stay with Lord Walter at least until he healed and that perhaps they should talk before Aziraphale succumbed to the impulses currently roaring through him.

“Perhaps you should get to bed,” Aziraphale said, voice slightly unsteady. 

Crowley, still a little bleary, nodded. “Thanks, angel. I think I’m going to go pass out.”

Aziraphale helped him to the bed. He was loathe to leave, but he knew that to spend too much time in a man’s bedroom was courting scandal, and he’d already been in Crowley’s chamber for far too long.

Crowley laid back on the pillows with a long sigh. Unable to resist, Aziraphale brushed his fringe back and kissed his forehead. “Get some rest, darling.”

Crowley’s eyes drifted shut, a slight smile curling his mouth, and Aziraphale left the room before he got too caught up in the play of light over Crowley’s bare collarbone.

* * *

Aziraphale looked despondently at his discarded dress. Alice really would have a fit if she saw it in this state. The sleeves were the worst of it, streaked with dirt and drying blood. He waved away the stains, hoping they’d stay gone. Cleaning miracles were not his forte.

With a flutter in his belly, Aziraphale went to his wardrobe and tried to decide what to wear to the banquet that evening. He wanted to look nice for Lord Walter’s sake, but also...what if Crowley was in attendance? Aziraphale felt embarrassingly flattered by Crowley’s earlier comment on his pink dress. Would he like the blue kirtle with the gold embroidery? Alice always said that one made his hair look beautiful. 

Aziraphale huffed at himself. One kiss and he was thinking about how Crowley would react to his outfits. It was probably for the best that he’d spent so long pushing away his feelings else he would have been an utter mess for centuries.

There was a light knock at the door and Aziraphale turned to find Alice shutting it carefully behind her. The maid hurried to his side and took his hands in hers before spinning him around. “That kiss!” she cried, jumping up and down, still holding Aziraphale’s hands.

Aziraphale couldn’t hold back his smile. That kiss indeed.

“Oh, and Sir Crowley besting the bear knight in the joust! We were so certain he would be unseated,” Alice said, putting her hand to her face as if to cool her pink cheeks. “He’s so very handsome. Don’t you think?”

Aziraphale felt his own cheeks heating. “I do, rather.”

Alice squealed and then threw open the doors to Aziraphale’s wardrobe. “We are picking out your best dress and you’re going to wear that golden sheer veil that makes your hair shimmer.”

In that moment, Aziraphale was so terribly thankful for Alice and her unbridled enthusiasm. His earlier thoughts no longer felt quite so silly. Crowley and he were...wooing. Or something like that. And if Aziraphale was going to indulge in human custom, then he was going to _ indulge _.

Alice chattered about all her favorite parts of the tourney - most of them involved Crowley, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but agree - and worked two braids into his hair to tuck them back under the veil where it would lay over the cascade of his curls. 

“My lady," Alice said when she finally finished affixing the veil over Aziraphale’s hair. "Please. How was the kiss? I've never been kissed before and you must tell me everything. How did it feel? Was it everything you dreamed?"

Aziraphale laughed. He felt as if he was full of light, his heart growing overlarge and warm. “It was...Alice, it was lovely.”

Alice squealed and hopped in an excited dance. “Have you always wanted to kiss Sir Crowley? I know you've known him a very long time.”

Aziraphale considered that for a long moment. Had he always wanted to kiss Crowley? Surely not, but the more he thought, the more he remembered all those desires he had ignored for centuries. “I think I’ve wanted to for longer than I even knew.”

“He’s going to be so very glad!” Alice said, clapping her hands. “It’s awfully clear that he’s in love with you.”

Aziraphale thought briefly of the way Crowley had frozen time just to kiss him for a moment longer and the glowing feeling inside him grew even more intense. “Is it?”

“Of course it is,” Alice said in a tone of voice that implied he was dense. She helped him to his feet and started lacing up his dress. “The way he looked at you the last time he was here, it was like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.”

Swallowing around a lump in his throat, Aziraphale tried to absorb that. He really had misread Crowley’s behavior as particularly taunting that evening. But he’d been complimenting him! Telling him he was beautiful!

Aziraphale did so hope Crowley would come to dinner.

* * *

Emony welcomed him to dinner with one of her toothy smiles. It was much less formal than Aziraphale had expected. The typical courses had been forgone for the sake of celebration as musicians played, some of the younger girls dancing caroles on the far side of the room and the knights from the tourney sharing drinks at one of the low tables. The whole room bubbled with joy that Aziraphale could _ feel _. Humans were remarkable creatures.

“It’s so nice to have the hall filled with people again,” Emony said wistfully. She took a long drink from her wine and looked at Aziraphale. “I can’t help but feel it’s in some part due to you.”

Aziraphale swallowed around the bite of spiced mutton in his mouth. “I can’t take credit for Lord Walter’s hard work.”

Emony cast her glance at her husband where he was gesturing wildly, telling a story among the neighboring lords, who seemed thoroughly entertained by his antics. “Things have been hard for the last few years. Yes, the weather has improved, and so have the harvests, but your visit has meant a great deal to Walter. Family has always been important to him. You’ve brought a lot of joy to this house.”

Aziraphale flushed. There were many aspects of being an angel that never grew old and this was one, feeling the love of other people, bringing joy and peace. There were other, less palatable aspects, but Aziraphale was in a good mood and refused to think on them.

Before Aziraphale could respond, Emony glanced at the door and then gave him a meaningful look. Aziraphale followed the direction of her gaze and immediately understood the teasing cant of her eyebrows. Oh, dear. He was really in it now. 

Long fringe hanging in his eyes—perhaps that was how he was halfheartedly disguising his eyes these days—Crowley walked through the herd of knights, some of whom cheered while others frowned and grumbled. He was still shuffling as if his body pained him and he waved off their enthusiasm as he approached Aziraphale’s table where Emony swiftly took her leave, smirking at Aziraphale all the while.

Crowley slouched to his side and dropped into the seat next to him, glowering at the table before he dragged the pitcher of wine closer so he could fill his cup. 

Aziraphale almost stopped him. “Should you really be drinking at a time like this?”

“I dunno,” Crowley said carelessly. “Might make me feel less like I’ve gotten clobbered by a hammer.”

Aziraphale sighed. Crowley was probably right and Aziraphale was just letting his worry get the better of him. Lowering his voice even further, Aziraphale leaned close and asked, “Were you able to heal a bit?”

Crowley gave him an unamused glance. “Chest’s all cleared up. I left some of the bruises but I'm beginning to regret it. Definitely leaving the arm though. Seems the one most people would notice.”

“It was quite the turning point in the fight,” Aziraphale said, feeling flustered just thinking about it. The way Crowley had evaded the blow, kept his ground. “Very dashing.”

One of Crowley’s eyebrows flicked up and he set down his cup. “Find me dashing, do you?”

“I think this entire castle thinks you’re dashing,” Aziraphale said, determinedly ignoring the way his cheeks started to flush. It felt very good to tease Crowley like this, with the knowledge that they wanted each other. That they could have each other. In fact…

At that moment Walter dropped into the seat next to Crowley and slammed his hand into the demon’s back, making Crowley splutter and turn red. “Crowley, Crowley, Crowley,” Walter said, shaking his head. “Glad to see you made it out to the tournament today.”

Crowley raised his glass and took another drink.

“Though I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. When I announced my fair cousin to be the lady of the tournament I was certain you’d make an appearance.”

Aziraphale tried not to beam as Crowley grew even redder.

“Anything for a chance to kiss our lovely lady, am I right?” Walter said with a shark-toothed grin. Crowley made a noncommittal noise that drove a crack of doubt through Aziraphale’s good mood. Had he misinterpreted Crowley’s earlier enthusiasm? Did he no—

Sir John appeared in front of the banquet table, pink cheeked with his thick black hair pushed back from his forehead and an open smile on his face.

“Lady Aziraphale,” he said as he approached. He was favoring his right leg but that didn’t stop him from saying, “The others are striking up a dance. I was hoping you’d join us.”

Aziraphale looked back at Crowley who was somehow simultaneously scowling at the table and Walter. Frustrated, he gave John his full attention. “That sounds like very good fun, Sir John.”

Aziraphale was not a strong dancer—he had no rhythm to speak of—but the others were so joyful, full of wine and food, that it was difficult not to enjoy himself, even as he replayed Crowley’s noise of derision at the mere implication that he had come to the tournament for Aziraphale. 

When the carole ended, John escorted him back to the table before pausing at the edge. Some of Aziraphale’s curls had come undone and were scattered over his shoulders so John pushed one back behind his ear before saying, “I am truly sorry I did not win today.”

Aziraphale felt a little traitorous fluttering in his stomach because John’s blue eyes were really _ quite _blue and very earnest. “You performed admirably, Sir John,” Aziraphale said and John smiled, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

“In the future, I hope I am the one to earn your favor.”

With that, John left, striding away across the room to join some of the other knights and leaving Aziraphale feeling a bit weak at the knees. He grasped the edge of the table and then brought himself to rights before returning to his seat where Walter was laughing very loudly and Crowley looked even more glum than when Aziraphale had left.

Aziraphale couldn’t stop his rising concern. “Crowley, are you alright? You look very green,” he said. Crowley truly should not have come downstairs if he was still feeling so poorly.

“M’fine,” Crowley growled which just sent Walter into another fit of snorting laughter. Crowley glared at him.

Tossing up his hands, Walter stood and walked away, shaking his head and laughing to himself. Emony kissed his cheek when he reached her side and he turned to her with a fond smile that warmed Aziraphale’s heart.

Refusing to be distracted, Aziraphale put his hands on his hips and frowned down at Crowley. “You clearly need to rest. I’m taking you to bed.”

The minute the words left his mouth he realized what they sounded like, but it was too late. Blushing, Aziraphale stood his ground until Crowley slumped in defeat.

“Don’t think you can just scowl at me and get your way, you know,” Crowley said as he shuffled into a standing position. Even though he was still pale from whatever injuries he had yet to heal, Aziraphale couldn’t help but admire the way his black surcoat emphasized his slim shoulders, making him look tall and lithe and dangerous.

The unsteady feeling in his legs returned but Aziraphale refused to entertain it. Perhaps he had been a fool out there on the stand letting Crowley kiss him breathless and thinking it _ meant _ anything. Perhaps Crowley went around kissing all sorts of people, making their hearts race. It was _ fine_. Aziraphale was _ fine_.

Stalwartly silent, and steadily fuming, Aziraphale marched Crowley back to the guest chambers and came to a stop by the door, crossing his arms over his chest. “I hope you’re happy,” Aziraphale snapped.

Crowley, whose hand had come up to the door to push it open, froze and turned to Aziraphale, lip curling, a sure sign he was about to spit something venomous in Aziraphale’s direction. “Happy? What am I supposed to be _ happy _ about? That my entire body feels like a bruise? Or perhaps I’m supposed to be happy for you and Sir Blue Eyes? Should have let him win. Then you could have kissed someone you wanted to.”

Aziraphale blinked, feeling tears prick at his eyes. “I don’t appreciate your tone, Crowley. John asked me to dance so I did. I don’t see _ you _ wooing me so you have no right to—”

“No right?” Crowley said, baring his teeth as he whirled on Aziraphale, drawing close enough that Aziraphale could feel the heat from his body. 

One moment, Crowley was bearing down on him, and the next they were kissing. Crowley herded him back against the wall, one hand on his ribs and the other in his hair. Aziraphale fisted his hands in Crowley’s velvet surcoat and tugged him against his body. Crowley made a surprised noise of pain but when Aziraphale went to pull back, Crowley didn’t let him. “S’fine. Injuries. Ignore it,” he murmured into Aziraphale’s mouth.

Aziraphale pulled back as far as he could, head spinning from Crowley’s kiss. “Perhaps we shouldn’t. If you’re hurt.”

“If you think a light stabbing will keep me from kissing you then you’re daft,” Crowley said, his voice thready and unsure. Not at all the normal vitriol and spite despite his attempt at their usual banter.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, unable to find a response. It was so...so...romantic. He wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck and brought him back down into a kiss. The glowing feeling from before was back. It filled up his ribcage until he felt fit to burst. All he wanted was to keep kissing Crowley who slipped his hands around Aziraphale’s lower back and pulled him even closer, nearly lifting him from the ground in his fervor.

For a moment, Aziraphale wildly regretted the spread of his skirt because if he were in trousers, Crowley’s leg would easily fit between his own and then Aziraphale could have something to alleviate this steadily growing ache. 

Aziraphale tore his mouth away. “Please…” he gasped with no idea what he was asking for. Crowley had opened his mouth to answer when the sound of boots echoed down the hallway, and then Crowley was pulling away. Aziraphale found this supremely unfair. 

“Thank you for escorting me to my room, Lady Aziraphale,” Crowley said, too loud and too dramatic. Aziraphale suppressed an eye roll. “Good night.”

And with that, Crowley dipped into his room, leaving Aziraphale to confront Sir George, who seemed to be stumbling to his own guest quarters, drunk and paying Aziraphale no mind.

He sighed. He still felt like his whole body was tingling. The very core of him ached. He hoped this meant something. Crowley wanted him, surely. He’d felt the evidence of it against his hip, he’d felt it in the grip of his hands, in the moan in his mouth. 

Now he just needed to make sure Crowley knew he felt the same.


	2. In the Fields

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some quick notes  
1) Aziraphale has a vulva for most of this fic just in case that squicks you  
2) this is set in "medieval times" about as much as a knight's tale is. that is to say, I'm using tropes but my history is all over the place.  
3) brief warning for some vague historical misogyny  
4) if you want a quick reference for the sort of body type im picturing for aziraphale please see [naniiebim's lovely work ](https://naniiebimworks.tumblr.com/post/189452821878/pin-up-50s-starlet-aziraphale)  
3) i love every single one of you for reading this and coming with me on what shall surely be a wild ride
> 
> Finally, shout out to [ poetic-nonsense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetic_nonsense/pseuds/poetic_nonsense) aka the best beta because they laughed mercilessly at me throughout all my drafts

Crowley regretted agreeing to stay with Walter. It had seemed the thing to do at the time with Aziraphale staring at him over Walter’s shoulder, liquid gray eyes and kiss-bitten lips, and Crowley’s heart had turned over in his chest so _ of course _ he had agreed to stay.

But now Aziraphale was everywhere. Aziraphale was tending to his wounds, sitting next to him in the banquet hall, dancing and laughing, and then Aziraphale was pressed against a wall, panting into his mouth and it all seemed like a _ very, very _bad idea.

He’d managed to make excuses and hole himself up for a week, citing his injuries, but now? He was at breakfast, faced with the sight of Aziraphale in the morning sun, and Crowley wanted to kick himself all over again. 

He’d kissed Aziraphale not once but _ twice _ and while Aziraphale had seemed willing—alright, more than willing—a quick tumble wasn’t exactly what Crowley was after. He’d spent centuries wishing he could have slammed Aziraphale against the nearest wall and ravished him. But he never did because he wanted more than that. He wanted Aziraphale to feel the same way he did. Pathetic as he was, he wanted Aziraphale’s love. 

Aziraphale’s tinkling laughter drew his attention and he turned to see him discussing something with Walter’s wife. Emony, Crowley thought her name was. The woman giggled and pushed her pear over to Aziraphale who picked it up, biting into it greedily. A drop of juice escaped and ran down his chin. He caught it with his fingers and then sucked them into his mouth to chase the flavor.

Aziraphale under normal circumstances was dazzlingly tempting. He’d been tempting since that day in the garden with his genuine smile, practically glowing with love. But like this...Crowley was beginning to question his sanity. He’d never seen Aziraphale grow out his silken curls and now they cascaded over his shoulders in perfect ringlets, every noble lady’s dream. His soft, round face absolutely perfect when framed by his golden white hair. Crowley wanted to sink his hands into it again—it had been so fine and delicate under his fingers—he wanted Aziraphale to look at him like he had in the hallway, devastated and needy.

Aziraphale met his gaze and gave him a small, questioning smile that had Crowley looking away. 

“You know,” Walter said beside him. “I think she’d marry you if you asked.”

Crowley choked around the bite of bread he had stuffed in his mouth as a distraction. “Gah—ah, I’m not so sure about that.” He coughed. “But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Walter smirked, casting his eyes over at Aziraphale who was still eating his pear with gusto, the shine of juice on his lips doing something to Crowley that he was sure he’d be embarrassed about later when he had the wherewithal to think about it.

“Last time you were here, she was in a tizzy for days after. She kept asking after you and then pretending she wasn’t. It was adorable.”

Crowley scoffed but couldn’t stop the way that warmed his insides. He thought back on how Aziraphale had cared for him after the tourney, how tenderly he’d pressed a kiss to his bandage. Was that the behavior of someone who just wanted to get him into bed?

Crowley thought the kiss at the tourney would be all he got but then Aziraphale had said _ beds aplenty _ with all sorts of intent. He had caved because he loved the blasted angel, but, desperate kisses or no, Aziraphale didn’t love him back. Probably never would. A quick tumble wouldn’t change that.

“For all I know, Aziraphale never wants to get married,” Crowley said. It was true. Angels didn’t do things like that. They didn’t engage in romantic relationships. Didn’t in Heaven. Didn’t on earth. And that was fine. He and Aziraphale were friends. Had been for a very long time by Crowley’s estimation. 

“Well, I think you should ask,” Walter said. He took a large bite of bacon and spoke as he chewed, “You’ll have to swallow your pride eventually. Otherwise you’ll end up a lonely old serpent.”

He sounded very pleased at his own wisdom.

Crowley looked over the room at Aziraphale again. He was happily eating his food and doing that familiar little shimmy in his seat that meant he was enjoying himself. The sudden desire to hold him was like a punch to the gut. Crowley coughed, which only drew Aziraphale’s attention.

Bowing his head, he made his excuses to Walter and left the hall. He needed some fresh air. Maybe Crowley should take himself off back to Essex, and he and Aziraphale could both forget about the kiss. Kisses. Crowley groaned and kicked at the stone in the courtyard as he made his way to the stables. He needed to get outside, get away from the castle, get his head on straight.

“Crowley!”

He stopped in his tracks. Of fucking course. Aziraphale could never leave well enough alone. 

Aziraphale trotted up to his side, a wide smile gracing his pretty features. Aziraphale’s smile had always been Crowley’s weak point. 

“Can I help you?” Crowley drawled none-too-warmly and the smile faltered.

“Oh, I—I wanted to see how you were doing,” Aziraphale said. He began to wring his hands. “Your injuries?”

“Nothing a week of bedrest couldn’t cure,” Crowley replied, ready for that to be the end of the conversation, but Aziraphale stepped closer and put a hand on his arm, just beneath the bandage covered by his surcoat.

“And your arm?”

Crowley took his hand, pulling it away from his arm but unable to let go entirely. “Better than it was. I was going to go out for a ride. Do some drills.”

Aziraphale immediately brightened. “Oh really? Do you think I could come with you? I’ve missed using a sword. Humans don’t really let women handle them these days.”

Crowley snorted and Aziraphale’s excitement took on a wicked edge. “Or are you perhaps afraid? I must admit it’s been a while since I’ve wielded a sword, but I was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate.”

It almost made Crowley laugh. In his physical change to present as a woman, Aziraphale had grown slightly shorter than his normal form and at that moment Crowley felt like he was being goaded by a chubby lap dog. 

Aziraphale noticed his amusement and narrowed his eyes. Crowley held up his hands, his earlier nerves about being around Aziraphale fading in light of their normal banter. See, this was why he loved the blasted angel. 

Caving—like he always did—Crowley said, “Fine, but you can’t tell Walter. He’ll have my head for putting his beautiful cousin in danger.”

Aziraphale put a dramatic hand to his mouth and batted his eyelashes coquettishly. “Crowley, you think I’m beautiful?”

“Shut up,” Crowley growled, storming away to the stables and listening to the faint sounds of Aziraphale following after.

When he turned back, Aziraphale was miraculously in breeches and a tunic, and at Crowley’s look he huffed. “I’m hardly going to ride a horse properly in a dress.”

In the new outfit, Crowley could clearly tell Aziraphale had also changed the shape of his body for this assignment. He was still soft—oh, so deliciously soft—about the hips and belly, but his waist nipped in slightly under the curve of his breasts before rolling out into love handles that made Crowley’s hands twitch with the desire to touch. Crowley realized abruptly that he was ogling and turned to focus on his horse.

“Riding horses is already terrible enough without trying to do it in a _ skirt _,” Aziraphale said, still talking as if he hadn’t noticed Crowley’s distraction. “I’m sure you know.”

Crowley _ did _ know. About a hundred years ago he’d been presenting as a woman and, there were a lot of awful things about it, misogyny for one, but trying to ride horses sidesaddle had been bloody irritating.

With that, Aziraphale finished outfitting his own horse and, with only minor difficulty, hopped himself up on it. Crowley climbed up on his own horse, at least a bit more practiced in mounting the blasted things. The first time Crowley had ridden a horse he had fallen off. And the second time. Embarrassed—not that he would admit it—he took to practicing on the ugly buggers and had finally gotten it down. 

“You know, there’s a lovely field out by the lake that should be perfect. No one will interrupt us there.”

Crowley cast Aziraphale a sideways glance. No matter the trail of Crowley’s own thoughts, Aziraphale probably didn’t mean _ no one will interrupt us _ . The angel didn’t exactly seem the type to want to be ravished in a _ field _ of all places. 

No ravishing, Crowley thought firmly. He wasn’t about to sleep with Aziraphale because the angel had decided he wanted to try out scratching a newfound itch. Crowley wasn’t that desperate. Or so he told himself.

Aziraphale led him to the east towards a small lake, and sure enough, just outside the beginning of the trees that lined the water there was a small field, wild grasses shooting up in patches and little white flowers peppering the landscape. Aziraphale dismounted after two tries and then miracled up two wooden training swords. When Crowley raised a questioning eyebrow, he explained, “I’m not actually trying to hurt you. I just want to move my body. Get back in the habit, so to speak.”

They let the horses graze and sought out a flat patch of field where Aziraphale began to shift from foot to foot, testing the sword in his hand. “It really has been a very long time.”

“What’s ‘a long time,’ angel?”

Aziraphale paused and considered it. “I don’t know. A century perhaps?”

“That’s not _ that _ long,” Crowley pointed out. Which was true. In comparison to the five thousand years they’d been on earth, a century was nothing.

“Long enough to forget the specifics,” Aziraphale countered before falling into a fighting stance. “Are you ready?”

“I suppose,” Crowley said, dropping his center of gravity in preparation for the first strike. The fact of the matter was that Crowley preferred to use his speed and agility to fight. Aziraphale, with his history guarding Eden, had more strength and Crowley had to fall back, dodging and parrying. It seemed only a matter of trying to hold his ground as Aziraphale advanced.

And then, Crowley misjudged the angle of one of Aziraphale’s strikes. He found himself slapped in the thigh by a wooden sword and when he looked up, Aziraphale gave him a beatific grin. “Round to me then.”

Things took a decidedly unsportsmanlike turn after that, Crowley throwing elbows and knees when Aziraphale got close enough. One particularly accurate jab got Aziraphale in the belly which earned Crowley a surprised grunt.

They paused.

The sun had reached its peak in the sky and the sunlight was threading through Aziraphale’s long hair. Chest heaving as he caught his breath, Aziraphale reached up and tied the strands back. “Long hair has its purposes, I suppose, but it always gets caught in my mouth. I don’t know how you did it for so many years. And during all those wars!”

Crowley heart raced as Aziraphale tilted his face towards the sun, eyelashes looking fine as silk in the light as he smiled with warm satisfaction. 

“Next round then?” Aziraphale asked, completely ignorant to Crowley’s distraction. Well, Aziraphale had been ignorant to Crowley’s distraction for centuries. It was nothing new.

“Of course,” Crowley said with a mocking bow that earned him a bark of laughter. His injured arm had begun to ache and he knew he was losing more rounds than he won, but it was worth it to earn Aziraphale’s pleasure at besting him. 

With a particularly awkward parry—Crowley truly was growing exhausted—he managed to lock their swords together at the hilt. Aziraphale frowned and pushed back against him, but the angle prevented him from overpowering Crowley. Seeing an opportunity, Crowley twisted his sword, yanking Aziraphale’s weapon from his hands and sending it flying. As he was about to strike the flat of his blade against Aziraphale’s shoulder in victory, he found himself tackled to the ground, sword knocked from his own hand as Aziraphale bore down on him, flat of his palm pressed into Crowley’s chest.

“Oi!” Crowley cried, trying to wrestle Aziraphale off him, but, as always, Aziraphale was stronger and managed to hold him down.

Crowley stopped struggling and glowered up at Aziraphale who looked very like the cat that got the cream. “Dirty pool, that is," Crowley groused.

“I believe that’s six rounds to me and four to you. Do you yield, then?” Aziraphale asked lightly, one corner of his mouth ticking up like his smile just couldn’t be contained.

“Fine, yes. Match to you. Don’t look so pleased,” Crowley said, giving in easily because Aziraphale needed to get off of him. His warm weight was beginning to have a very particular effect. He reached up to grasp Aziraphale’s hips and lift him off, but at the touch of his hands, Aziraphale gasped in surprise and ground against him like he couldn’t help himself. Crowley hissed with unexpected pleasure at the sudden friction.

“Oh, that’s...” Aziraphale breathed, face going slack—and before Crowley could say a blessed thing, the angel had fallen forward, arms bracketing Crowley’s face and hands fisting in his hair to hold him in place so he could crush their mouths together. 

It turned out that Crowley’s resolve to resist Aziraphale's advances melted in the face of Aziraphale rocking against him, moaning like he couldn’t control himself. It was strange, feeling the swell of Aziraphale’s breasts against him, his smaller stature making Crowley feel like something was off—he’d pictured this enough times and in every one of those fantasies Aziraphale had been barrel chested, tall, the same shape he’d always been. Crowley didn’t mind this new corporation. Far from it. He just needed to...adjust. And he was adjusting fast if the tension in his stomach was anything to go by.

Crowley tore his mouth away, head colliding with the dirt and making him dizzy. “Aziraphale, I don’t know if we should—”

“Shut up and kiss me. Please,” Aziraphale said, sounding breathless and desperate, and the last thread of Crowley’s resolve gave way. What did it matter what it meant? It was Aziraphale, warm and soft in his arms and _ begging _.

Aziraphale tasted like the pears Crowley had seen him eat that morning and...Could someone taste like sunshine? Aziraphale probably did and Crowley savored it. He felt alive, illuminated, in love. What a sorry bastard he was.

Sliding his hands under Aziraphale’s tunic, he filled them with the luxurious roll of fat that he found above Aziraphale’s smallclothes. Different shape or no, Crowley had imagined _ this _ often enough. The play of Crowley’s fingers over his hips had Aziraphale squirming, pulling back a fraction so he could tip his forehead against Crowley’s shoulder and continue the steady movement of his hips as he gasped in pleasure.

“Oh darling, you feel amazing,” Aziraphale breathed against his neck.

Aziraphale sounded so loving, so _ affectionate _ that Crowley’s patience snapped and he rolled them so Aziraphale was on his back beneath him, his own hips slotted between Aziraphale’s thighs.

It was a heady thing, having Aziraphale dig his hands into Crowley’s back, having Aziraphale’s fingers dancing over the fabric of his surcoat, trying to push it off but getting caught, as if Aziraphale couldn’t decide whether he wanted to remove Crowley’s clothes or simply feel the weight of Crowley’s body against his own. Crowley felt as if he had to get closer. Something—anything—to make Aziraphale keep making these noises, keep writhing beneath him. Reaching between them, Crowley found the ties to Aziraphale’s braies and tugged at the laces. Aziraphale’s stomach jumped under his knuckles and Crowley used one hand to push up the light blue tunic obscuring his view of Aziraphale's body and the other to tug open his waistband. Fuck, the sight of Aziraphale's _ thighs _ had Crowley scrabbling to keep control of himself. He wanted to sink down and _ bite _them.

Aziraphale’s hands froze on his shoulders and he looked up at Crowley with trusting gray eyes, making Crowley’s insides twist in on themselves with anxiety even as he pushed his hand between Aziraphale’s legs and found him slick and hot. At the touch of his hand, Aziraphale’s hips jerked violently and he made a noise that Crowley was certain he would replay in his mind for centuries. Like Crowley had given him a gift, better than any pear.

“Oh that’s—oh dear,” Aziraphale gasped, back arching as he pressed against Crowley’s hand, seeking more friction.

Crowley lost a bit of the plot then as it became a blur of hot kisses and the silken feel of Aziraphale under his fingers while the angel cried out beneath him. His focus only returned when Aziraphale tugged on his wrist and said, “Please, please. I need...”

So Crowley dipped his hand lower, slipping his finger inside.

“Yes,” Aziraphale gasped. “More.”

For a dizzying moment, Crowley pictured tugging open his own trousers, sinking into Aziraphale. Being inside him.

Fuck. Fuck.

_ Fuck _.

With extreme regret—and something like terror—Crowley yanked himself away, falling onto his arse in the low grass as Aziraphale sat up, brow creased with concern. His hair was wild, bits of grass and white flowers stuck in the strands. He looked glorious and disheveled. Crowley had made him look like that and it made his cock pulsed at the sight.

“What are you—” Aziraphale asked, the telltale signs of a pout forming about his mouth.

“Aziraphale, we can’t.”

The pout turned into a frown. “We just were.”

Crowley didn’t know how to explain. _ I'm in love with you and I can't stand the idea that this is just a tumble. _ Walter’s words from earlier came to his mind. “Walter wants you to get married,” he said in a rush. It was a stupid excuse but it was better than the truth.

Aziraphale’s chin dipped in surprise and he looked at Crowley as though wondering if he was going mad before his eyes. “I can hardly get married, Crowley. I’m an _ angel _. I don’t see what that has to do with us making love.”

‘Making love’ hit Crowley like a knife between the ribs. He felt dizzy. That was what he had wanted, wasn’t it? Aziraphale’s love? He pushed his silly hope away. That wasn’t what this was. This was Aziraphale getting away from himself, trying to find pleasure in his corporation. That’s what Aziraphale did. Be it clothes, food, or the nicest feather bed. And now sex, apparently. He grasped at his flimsy excuse. “If we ma—if we do this, I’ll sully your...er...virtue?”

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open and his usually bright eyes turned stormy. “If you don’t want me, you could have said. You don’t need to make ridiculous excuses.”

Surging to his feet, Aziraphale tugged his tunic back into place and marched to his horse where it was happily eating some dandelions. He shot Crowley one last disgusted look before mounting it—poorly—and riding off.

Crowley dropped his head into his hands and took several deep breaths. That was not at all how that should have gone.

**

Aziraphale let his foul mood follow him around all day. Alice remarked upon it when he returned to his room. She pointedly did not mention the bits of dirt and grass she had to brush from his hair, but he was certain she would the next time he wasn’t glaring so hard it could burn a hole in the wall.

“Can I get you anything, milady?” she asked once Aziraphale was left in his loose linen chemise, a fire going and a candle lit.

Aziraphale shook his head. He wanted to be alone and mope.

Alice gave him a supportive smile and then disappeared through the door leaving Aziraphale to his thoughts which were inevitably about Crowley.

How had Aziraphale been so wrong? That kiss after the tourney had made him so certain that Crowley loved him, that those kisses were only the beginning for them. It made his heart ache to think that Crowley didn’t feel the same as he did. Crowley had run off. But today…

Oh, today.

Aziraphale flushed with the memory of the feeling of Crowley’s hand between his legs. Aziraphale had had a vulva ever he’d started this assignment and it had never felt like that before. He had wanted so many things he hardly knew the words for. But he had _ ached _ with it. Of course, he knew what humans got up to together. It was simply that Aziraphale had never been interested before. Occasionally, when his thoughts had drifted to Crowley in the past, he’d had some...careless imaginings, but he was very good at ignoring those. Same as he ignored the rushes of love that in retrospect seemed so obvious. 

Aziraphale really had been quite an idiot about Crowley. 

And now, ever since the tourney, Aziraphale had been certain Crowley loved him too, no matter how he was behaving. He had seemed so passionate with his kisses and low appreciative moans.

But perhaps Aziraphale had been wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time. He sighed. It would be best to put this all away, go back to burying it along with the centuries of wondering at the low heat of attraction he felt. He had managed to suppress that for years. He could suppress his newly discovered love just as well. Even if it felt impossible because he now knew the way Crowley felt on top of him, knew intimately how clever those fingers were...

There was a knock at the door, probably Alice coming back to check if Aziraphale wanted dinner. “Thank you, my dear, but I’m not hungry,” he called even as the door creaked open.

Aziraphale turned in his chair to thank her again and send her away when he saw a sheepish looking Crowley with a covered plate in his hand. “You weren’t at dinner,” he said, holding up the plate.

Aziraphale stood and crossed his arms over his chest. “I wasn’t feeling particularly social.”

“Look, Aziraphale…” Crowley began, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind him.

“Oh no!” Aziraphale said dramatically. “You mustn’t come in, good sir! For I am _ alone _ . We must think of my _ virtue _.”

Crowley grimaced. “Yeah, alright. Not my finest moment.”

Aziraphale sighed, some of the fight going out of him. “Crowley, I am very tired and I appreciate you checking on me but if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest,” he said as he crossed the room to herd Crowley back out of the door.

As he moved the long hem of his chemise tangled about his legs and he stumbled directly into Crowley, forcing him to drop the plate he had in his hand in order to catch him. The metal clanged against the floor as their eyes locked, Aziraphale’s heart already hammering in anticipation. Crowley’s gaze dropped to his mouth and for a blinding moment Aziraphale was certain he was about to be kissed, but then Crowley was stepping away, shaking his head as if to clear it. 

“You do know I’m supposed to be the tempting one,” Crowley said, sounding hysterical. “I’m the demon here!”

Aziraphale blinked as Crowley started to pace. Kneeling down, he tried to collect all the dropped food and replace it on the plate, but Crowley was by his side in an instant, helping him stand. “No, don’t do that. My fault,” he said, very quiet as Aziraphale reached out and brushed the fringe from his eyes.

Why did Crowley look so scared?

“Crowley, I’m not trying to—to _ tempt _ you,” Aziraphale said carefully, searching his face and hoping against hope that Crowley would meet his eyes. When he didn’t, Aziraphale stepped back and sighed. 

Stomach in knots, he gathered his resolve and said, “I’m sorry, my dear. I think I’ve been—perhaps I’ve misunderstood.”

Crowley’s eyes snapped up at that and the feel of them on Aziraphale’s skin made his whole body tingle. Wringing his hands, he forced himself to focus. 

“I suppose I thought you wanted me and I wanted you and the kissing has been so nice that I found myself wanting more. But I was clearly wrong. You don’t—you don’t feel the same way I do,” he said with a half-hearted smile. The kissing probably wouldn’t happen again after this conversation. “But I can...I can endeavor to keep my hands to myself. You needn’t be so uncomfortable in my presence. I’m sure we can get past it. With time.”

Crowley stared, face blank, and Aziraphale began to grow nervous. He plucked at the fabric of his shift nervously and said, “Well, if that’s all, you better go.”

“No,” Crowley said and then he was crossing the room in two long strides and seizing Aziraphale’s face between his hands so he could kiss him. 

Unable to resist, Aziraphale went limp in his grasp, hands coming up to clutch at his tunic in an involuntary effort to remain upright. Crowley pulled back for a moment to gasp, "Do you really—" 

Aziraphale interrupted him with a kiss.The firm heat of Crowley’s body through Aziraphale’s nightclothes made him press closer as Crowley threaded his hand into Aziraphale’s hair.

“Fuck, has your hair always been this soft?” Crowley asked, breathing raggedly. 

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale answered, hardly paying attention to his words as he tugged at Crowley’s belt. Aziraphale was nearly naked. Crowley should be too.

And thank everything, Crowley didn’t stop his questing hands as he claimed Aziraphale’s mouth in another searing kiss. Throwing Crowley’s belt on the ground, Aziraphale broke the kiss and pulled Crowley’s surcoat and shirt over his head, thrilled to be running his hands over the skin he’d been thinking about since he’d dressed Crowley’s wounds over a week ago.

He pressed his palm to the dip of Crowley’s chest, relishing the tickle of his auburn hair against the sensitive pads of his fingers as he surged up to capture Crowley’s mouth once more. He felt like he was melting from the inside out. Crowley’s hand came to settle on his ribcage and Aziraphale trembled when his thumb brushed the underside of Aziraphale’s breast, only the thin linen of his chemise separating their skin.

It felt as if it was finally happening. Centuries leading up to this moment as Aziraphale realized how badly he wanted Crowley.

As Aziraphale tried to push Crowley back towards the bed, a knock sounded at the door that had Crowley ripping himself away, eyes wide and accusatory like the interruption was somehow Aziraphale's fault. “Who is that?”

Aziraphale scowled and tried to catch his breath. “How should I know?”

“Shit, I need to go,” Crowley said, scrambling to pick up his tunic and belt before rushing to the window.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he repeated under his breath, pulling aside the curtain and throwing one leg over the sill.

“Lady Aziraphale?” someone called from beyond the door. Alice. “I brought you dinner.”

Aziraphale pushed his hair back, hoping it didn’t look too much like someone’s hands had just been in it. He turned back to Crowley who was still struggling to get out of the window. “Why aren’t you using your powers, you _ idiot _?” Aziraphale hissed.

Crowley paused in his frantic movements, the muscles in his arms straining where he was trying to lever himself over the stone sill. “Oh, right,” he said with an embarrassed grimace before he winked out of existence.

Aziraphale unlatched the door and let Alice in.

She paused and cocked her head. “Are you alright, milady? You looked a bit peaked.”

Aziraphale pressed a hand to his flaming cheek and nodded. “Yes, I believe I’m simply overtired.”

Alice peered at him doubtfully but didn’t press. “I brought you some dinner but…” she trailed off and looked meaningfully at the ground where the plate Crowley had brought had fallen, food scattered about.

“Er, Sir Crowley brought me a plate. I sent him on his way of course. Since I’m not feeling well. And I, er, well I dropped it...”

Alice’s doubtful expression took on a mischievous gleam. “Oh, Sir Crowley stopped by? That was very kind of him.”

Aziraphale's cheeks grew even hotter. Did Alice know? "Ye-yes, he was worried that I wasn’t at dinner."

Alice set down the plate on the small table next to the hearth. "That was very considerate, don’t you think?"

Aziraphale hesitated. Alice looked very pleased and he wasn’t sure how much he should or _ could _ confide in her. "Yes, I suppose so,” he began carefully. “But we have been friends for a very long time and it's no secret Crowley cares for me."

Alice arched her eyebrows. "I heard from Geoffrey that you and Sir Crowley went riding today and that you came back separately looking...disheveled."

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. He’d forgotten about Geoffrey, the young stable boy who was unfortunately good at hiding in the shadows and finding out...things. Aziraphale had used it to his advantage before when needing to get information but it had never been used against him.

"Yes, we did go riding," Aziraphale said, chin tipped up defiantly. "I don’t know what Geoff thought he saw but riding can be quite vigorous…"

Alice snorted. "I'm not sure that was the only thing that was vigorous."

Aziraphale gasped. "Miss Alice, if you're implying what I think you're implying—"

"Of course I'm implying! Sir Crowley was staring at you at breakfast like he couldn’t wait to get your clothes off and then you go out to the fields together and come back _ disheveled. _"

Aziraphale collapsed onto his bed and put his head in his hands. "Was it that obvious?"

Alice drew up to his side and sat down carefully before putting a tender hand on his shoulder. "Only to the servants I think. We're all desperate for a bit of gossip and, well, you're not the only one who fancies Sir Crowley."

Aziraphale sighed with relief. He hardly needed to be the center of courtly gossip.

"Now are you going to tell me everything, or do I have to pull it out of you?" Alice asked, elbowing him gently and making him laugh.

"Oh, Alice," Aziraphale began, only a little embarrassed by how breathless he sounded. "I may have been a bit forward."

Alice's eyes went wide as saucers. "Do you mean to say you seduced him?"

"Not precisely. I’d say it was fairly mutual," Aziraphale grumbled, playing with the ends of his hair and Alice laughed.

"I don’t blame you. Honestly. It's probably uncouth to say but…" Alice began and for the first time she looked a little pink. "His hips do make you think about...well…"

Now that made Aziraphale laugh because he’d certainly had the same thought. "Alice!"

"What! Don’t lie to me. You absolutely agree," Alice said, her nose scrunching up adorably. "And are they...well, are they as good as they look?"

Aziraphale let out a long breath. He supposed it would be nice to confide in someone and Alice was so enthusiastic. "I didn't find out."

Alice looked confused. "But you said—"

"We did, erm, other things," Aziraphale said, not sure how detailed he should get. 

That seemed to only deepen Alice's confusion.

"There are other things?"

Aziraphale gaped at her and had to remind himself that sexual education was not as robust in this day and age as it had once been. He might be a novice in matter of the flesh but at least he was educated. "Oh my dear girl, there are so many things. "

She looked so openly curious that Aziraphale couldn’t help but explain, face growing redder and redder because everything he described he inevitably pictured doing with Crowley.


	3. Hearth and Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can entirely thank [@blue-sparkle](https://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com) for this chapter coming out tonight. they did [magnificent art](https://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/post/189690668263/galant-knights-tourneys-ladys-favours-to-win) of last chapter and it inspired me to clean this up for posting
> 
> a loud and grateful shout out to my beta [@poetic_nonsense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetic_nonsense/pseuds/poetic_nonsense) who continues to tell me that my smut is not as embarrassing as i like to think

Aziraphale woke up the next day feeling much better. His bad mood had disappeared overnight. He could attribute some of it to the fact that Crowley had apologized, had kissed him. He wished Crowley hadn’t had to run off—things had started to seem _ very _ promising — but he supposed it was for the best. Alice, as supportive as she was, probably shouldn’t walk in on him doing _ certain _ things. Aziraphale didn’t want to horrify the poor girl.

But it didn’t particularly matter that they hadn’t gone further than kissing—even if Aziraphale had certainly wanted them to. Because now Aziraphale knew Crowley loved him. Finally.

Well, Crowley hadn’t said the words but Aziraphale knew. 

Didn’t he?

A bit of the doubt from the night before crept back in as Aziraphale went through his ablutions. Crowley had looked at him with such wonder, touched him like he was precious. Surely...oh, bother, Aziraphale had gotten too distracted the night before and they hadn’t really said anything at all. He’d just have to remedy that.

Alice made her morning appearance, all secretive smiles after their conversation the night before. She did Aziraphale’s hair in simple braids and helped him into his dress - the one with the curling yellow embroidery in the cream insets. 

Alice gave him a sly look when he ran his hand over his waist. “Don’t get up to anything too indecorous, milady.”

Aziraphale smiled placidly, certain she meant something very naughty indeed. “I’ll be very careful, Alice. Don’t worry.”

Even with his intent to find Crowley, the demon didn’t make an appearance at breakfast and Aziraphale was swiftly pulled into a conversation about replacing the rushes in the great hall. Emony was concerned about letting the castle go to seed.

Aziraphale indulged her, and the conversation brought them to Emony’s chambers where Aziraphale was roped into continuing Emony’s reading lessons. It had come as quite a shock to Walter and Emony when they discovered Aziraphale’s fondness for reading—literacy considered widely unnecessary for women, which Aziraphale thought quite silly. But Walter thought it a grand idea and suggested Emony learn. His wife had taken to the idea with the same enthusiasm and while it was slow going, Aziraphale did find joy in her progress.

They worked on her letters until late in the afternoon and Aziraphale grew more and more distracted. Eventually Emony noticed and set down her stylus, taking a break from scratching the alphabet into the soft wax that Aziraphale had poured over the table for her. 

“Are you alright, Aziraphale?” Emony asked. She had thick, expressive eyebrows that always moved when she spoke. Right then, they were drawn together in question.

“Yes, yes,” Aziraphale said, redirecting his attention. “My apologies, I suppose I’ve been thinking about...well…”

“Is it Sir Crowley?” Emony asked. “You’ve been a bit different since the tourney.”

Aziraphale suppressed a grimace. He was being terribly obvious.

“Would you like some advice?” Emony said softly. Though she was not very old, Aziraphale often felt that she saw herself as something of a mother figure to Aziraphale and her kindness was unflagging.

“As you know, Walter and I weren’t a love match,” Emony began, her brown eyes firm on Aziraphale’s. “But I’ve come to care about him a great deal.”

Aziraphale gave her a weak smile. When he thought about how many loveless marriages there were in this day and age, he always grew sad. 

“It was difficult in the early days because we were both nervous, not wanting to make the other uncomfortable. But once we sat down and talked, things got easier. Perhaps you should do that,” Emony said as if it were that easy.

Aziraphale knew she was right. He just needed to pull himself together enough to ask Crowley how he felt.

Emony smiled at him, a sad sort of thing. “It’s clear there’s a lot of history between you. I can imagine that makes it feel more difficult than it is.”

“Oh, very much,” Aziraphale said, feeling a strange relief at being understood. It was difficult to explain—given the reality of their situation—but even this little bit of empathy had Aziraphale feeling lighter.

“Just talk to him,” Emony said. “It’ll be better to know where you stand. Don’t you think?”

Aziraphale bit his lip. She was right. He'd go find Crowley the minute he left Emony. They should talk and Aziraphale would keep his hands to himself.

* * *

Crowley could admit to himself that he was avoiding Aziraphale. _ Twice _ the day before he’d nearly let Aziraphale convince him that they could sleep together and it wouldn’t change a thing, but Crowley had a feeling that Aziraphale hadn’t thought any of this through. What had happened to the Aziraphale who kept him at arm’s length? Gone, apparently. Along with Crowley’s dignity, wherever that had buggered off to.

It was just that Crowley wanted him so much. Of course he did. Had done for a very long time. It was awful to have Aziraphale offer him something he so clearly wanted without any of the feeling Crowley needed.

_ We feel the same way _.

He couldn’t mean it, Crowley reasoned. He couldn’t possibly mean what Crowley thought he did. Because if Aziraphale felt even a modicum of what Crowley felt, then he would say it. He was a being of love. Surely...well, fuck, Crowley had no idea what was going on in Aziraphale’s head. He never did.

He groaned and let his head fall back against his pillow. He’d hidden in his room and had thought to nap the day away but his thoughts kept drifting to Aziraphale.

For most of his ruddy existence, his thoughts drifted to Aziraphale. Blasted angel and his pretty eyes and bastard behavior that never seemed to get in the way of him doing all sorts of _ nice _ things for Crowley like Crowley deserved nice things.

Disgusting.

And now it wasn’t just nice things to think of. It was the feeling of Aziraphale’s hands desperately tugging at his clothes. The heat of him around Crowley’s fingers. The pear sunshine taste of him.

_ Feel the same way _.

Crowley was going to die—not just discorporate, _ die _—be burned right out of existence if he kept this up.

He needed to talk to Aziraphale and put a stop to this once and for all. Say something like, _ If you want to get your rocks off, find someone else. _

_ Unless you love me. Is that what you meant? _

Well, not that last bit. That last bit was embarrassing. He didn’t want to have that conversation with Aziraphale. Didn’t want to say how much he wanted to make love to him, worship him for days, forget about the sodding world and make every second of their time together perfect for the angel.

No. Crowley would absolutely _ not _ say those things.

But he was well practiced at that, not saying the idiotic loving phrases that ran through his mind. He could do it again. One more conversation and then he’d be off like he said. He’d healed up enough that Walter wouldn’t question it when he took his leave. He needed to go back to Essex where he could make his own brand of trouble and keep a good distance between himself and Aziraphale’s newfound libido. Back where he could be alone and could finally entertain the delicious memory of Aziraphale underneath him, hot and dripping as Crowley fucked him with his hand. What would Aziraphale have done if Crowley had tugged off his braies entirely, sank down his body and replaced his hand with his mouth? Oh fuck, what would he _ taste _ like?

The heady thought had Crowley’s cock stirring in his pants. 

Would Aziraphale twitch under his tongue? Would he make different noises? Crowley hadn’t gotten him off in the field but what if he put his fingers inside him while he laved his clit with his tongue? Would Aziraphale clamp down around them as he orgasmed? Delicious and tight and greedy?

Crowley’s hand was in his braies and he didn’t care. Who was there to judge him? A quick wank might do him good. Take the edge off so when he next saw Aziraphale he might feel less like tugging the angel into his lap so Crowley could have his way with him.

Crowley had slept with people before. He was a demon and sometimes assignments warranted it. And, of course, he masturbated. But he never fantasized about those old experiences. They were work. But this? He had a whole banquet of memories to choose from. Needy kisses in the corridor. Aziraphale tugging off his clothes and running his hands over Crowley’s chest. 

Crowley’s eyes fluttered shut as he moved his hand over his shaft. What would it be like if it was Aziraphale’s pretty pink mouth? Crowley desperately wanted to know.

Gasping as he continued to work his hand, Crowley almost missed the creak of his door being opened, but the sharp inhalation that followed made him realize he wasn’t alone. Eyes flying open, he sat up and yanked his hand from his pants.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, hand grasping at the edge of the door as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. He had a look in his eye that Crowley was beginning to recognize.

Face flaming and cock aching, Crowley spun away and planted his feet on the floor so Aziraphale would _ stop _ looking at him like that. There was no way he’d be able to deal with his arousal if the angel was there. This was pathetic. _ He _ was pathetic.

“What are you doing here?” Crowley demanded. The bare skin of his back was prickling under Aziraphale’s gaze. Why had he taken off his shirt?

_ Because you didn’t expect anyone to barge into your room. Most people have propriety. _

Crowley heard the door shut before the bed dipped behind him and Crowley honestly shouldn’t have been surprised when cool fingers pressed against his shoulder blades, sending shivers down his spine. 

“Could I -” Aziraphale began, the question a puff of breath ghosting over his ear. “Would you mind if...I’d hate to leave you frustrated.”

Crowley fisted his hands on his thighs and tried to focus. Was Aziraphale really offering to get him off? Crowley couldn’t think straight. His cock was still straining in his smallclothes and Aziraphale was pressed against his back, arms coming around him so he could splay his hands over Crowley’s chest.

“Let me help you, love,” Aziraphale offered, beginning to kiss over his neck, his shoulders.

It was the _ love _ that did it. That little endearment. One syllable had Crowley leaning back into the soft pillow of Aziraphale’s arms and forgetting all of the reasons why this was a terrible idea.

Aziraphale took it as the permission it was, running his hands down the flat planes of Crowley’s abdomen, caressing the soft hair beneath his belly button before dipping under his clothes. 

“You gorgeous thing,” Aziraphale breathed, making Crowley moan as his head tipped back against Aziraphale’s shoulder. The angel felt so good. Soft and warm and welcoming.

His hot palm wrapped around Crowley’s cock and tentatively slipped his fingers over the head before pausing. Crowley felt like he had fire in his veins, like he was drunk. Like he was dreaming. What did it matter if Aziraphale was in love with him? This felt too good for him to care.

“You’ll have to show me how, darling,” Aziraphale said. Fuck, Crowley wanted to kiss him. “Let me make this good for you.”

In his lust induced delirium, Crowley said, “It’ll be good. It’s you.”

* * *

Aziraphale thought this must be what madness felt like. His mind was fuzzy and his thoughts could barely be deciphered between the waves of desire sweeping through him. He wanted to touch Crowley. He wanted Crowley to touch him. It felt so complicated even in its simplicity.

Moving his hand over Crowley’s hard cock, Aziraphale let himself be guided by Crowley’s response. The hitch in his breathing when Aziraphale moved his hand just right. The small gasp when Aziraphale tightened his grip.

_ It’ll be good. It’s you. _

The words made Aziraphale’s stomach hurt in the most delicious way. He felt himself grow wet between his legs when Crowley bucked up into his hand.

“Like that, angel. You’re so… you’re so—”

Crowley words devolved into sharp gasps and Aziraphale watched in awe when he finally came apart, spilling over his hand as he made a pained sound. Tightening his own arms around him, Aziraphale felt Crowley’s muscles go lax as his chest heaved. 

“Thank you, darling, that was—”

Aziraphale was interrupted by a rough hand in his hair as Crowley leaned his head back and tugged Aziraphale forward so he could bring their mouths together. Moaning when Crowley’s tongue caressed his own, Aziraphale rose up on his knees and pressed himself firmly against Crowley’s back so he could deepen the kiss. 

Crowley twisted around and broke the kiss—which was truly unacceptable by Aziraphale’s standards. But then he was being pressed back onto the bed and Crowley slotted their mouths together again. It was even better because he was able to feel the weight of Crowley on top of him, their legs tangled together so if Aziraphale moved just right he could grind against Crowley's thigh and relieve the steadily growing ache between his legs.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s back and savored the feel of his soft, bare skin under his hands, warm against the sensitive skin of his forearms. 

Crowley moved away, kissing his neck and then his collar bones, igniting Aziraphale’s skin everywhere he touched. 

Then Crowley was tugging at his skirts, pulling them up, and Aziraphale felt a spring of joy. This was happening! Crowley wasn’t pushing him away. He used a small miracle to undo the ties of his dress so they could get it over his head. Once the dress was tossed aside, Crowley froze, staring down at him, looking ruined.

Crowley ran his hand reverently over Aziraphale’s exposed side, the touch of his calloused fingers sending sparks over Aziraphale’s skin. He gasped as his stomach muscles jumped and the tops of his thighs grew embarrassingly wet.

“You’re a sight, aren’t you,” Crowley said, eyes focused on the swell of Aziraphale’s hips and belly, his expression hungry.

Before Aziraphale could say anything—what would he even say—Crowley ducked his head and pressed sucking kisses over his collarbone, down his sternum, palming one of Aziraphale’s breasts with one hand as he licked over the other.

Aziraphale’s hands shot into Crowley’s hair when Crowley sucked one nipple into his mouth, the wet heat of it making Aziraphale cry out. Oh—he’d never—that was—

Shocks of pleasure were pulsing through his body and he tried to tug Crowley up to kiss him but the demon ignored him, biting at the undersides of his breasts and then kissing the soft rolls of his stomach. Crowley hummed against his skin and Aziraphale felt as if his whole body was aflame. He wanted Crowley’s hand between his legs, wanted Crowley inside him. Anything to relieve this mounting ache.

Breathing hard, Aziraphale squirmed and said, “I never thought it could be like this.”

He felt Crowley’s smirk against the skin of his belly. “Thought about it a lot, eh?”

“Only recently,” Aziraphale said, hand carding through Crowley’s hair. It was softer than he thought possible. He pictured it long, like it had been in Mesopotamia, at Golgotha. Would he let Aziraphale braid it some day?

Crowley paused, looking up at Aziraphale, moving to brace his weight with his hands. A little wrinkle appeared on his forehead. “Recently?” he repeated quietly.

Aziraphale mourned the loss of his weight bearing down on him, the press of his hands on his hips. “Well, yes. Ever since you kissed me I’ve wanted to know what this would be like.”

Crowley reared back as if burned. “You mean that you -,” He broke off and then looked away. “Of course that’s all this is. Why would I ever think...”

He pushed a hand through his mussed hair, eyes skittering over Aziraphale’s body and fixing on the pillows. He yanked himself out of bed and was across the room before Aziraphale could say anything, tugging on a long black shirt before turning back with accusing eyes. “You need to leave.”

Aziraphale sat up, suddenly feeling very exposed. He cast out for his dress and when he couldn’t find it, he snapped his fingers and found himself clothed. 

“Crowley…” Aziraphale said, lifting himself off the bed and moving towards him.

“Take your little offer of a quick fuck and bugger off,” Crowley said, a pained look on his face that quickly turned into a sneer, as if to cover up his actual feelings.

“What?” Aziraphale asked, freezing in place as his stomach turned cold. 

Crowley ignored him entirely, slipping quickly into a tirade that had Aziraphale reeling. “I don’t know why you suddenly want to get on with this sex business, but I won’t do it. I'm sure you think it's quite the lark, using me like this when you _ know _ how I feel: _ Crowley'll do, he must be slavering for it _.”

Aziraphale shook his head, none of this made sense. Crowley thought Aziraphale was trying to use him? They _ loved _ each other. “Are you mad?”

“You do everything else according to your flights of fancy. Why should this be any different?”

Aziraphale sucked in a breath, hot anger overtaking his arousal and twisting it into something too powerful to control. “Is that what you think of me?”

Crowley’s eyes flickered and then he bared his teeth, advancing on Aziraphale like he wanted to use his superior height to intimidate him. “I think you’re selfish.”

Aziraphale felt tears prick at his eyes. But he’d rather discorporate than let Crowley see him cry at this very moment. “_ I’m _ selfish?!”

Crowley stared him down as if daring him to say more.

Aziraphale paused for a bit, a silly part of him hoping that Crowley would give in, apologize. When he didn’t, Aziraphale snapped, “Fine. If all I want is _ to get off _, I’m sure I can find someone else. And someone less idiotic at that.”

With that, Aziraphale marched out of the room, ignoring Crowley’s stricken expression. 

* * *

Crowley had fucked up. Crowley knew he fucked up, but that didn’t change anything. 

Aziraphale had stomped out of the room—rightfully so—and Crowley paced in front of the window, slowly coming down off the high of his orgasm as he was confronted by the fact that he had ruined everything. 

He tossed himself into the uncomfortable chair by the hearth and sulked. He’d had Aziraphale beneath him, warm and ready, and he’d gone and fucked it up. _ Again. _He’d gotten angry.

Well, he had a right to be angry, he reasoned. Aziraphale was being a prick about this whole thing, entirely selfish and—

_ That’s not what happened. You’re just scared _.

He put a fist to his forehead and closed his eyes as he groaned in frustration. “I’m not bloody scared.”

Except he was and he knew it. Scared that, if Aziraphale felt the same way, he’d go tumbling headfirst into it and fall even harder than he already had so that when Aziraphale inevitably changed his mind, it would hurt worse than any of this ridiculous pining he’d been subjecting himself to. Pining was safe. Loving from a distance? Also safe. 

The idea of _ actually _ being with Aziraphale? Terrifying.

Letting his head tip back, Crowley groaned again, long and loud. He’d been a twat. Calling Aziraphale selfish when that was the furthest thing from the truth. He just had to suck it up and apologize. He hated apologizing.

Forcing himself to stand, he snapped himself into his clothes and ran a hand through his hair. He missed the days of wearing sunglasses. The long fringe and a little power worked to conceal his eyes but the sunglasses made sure no one could see how he was feeling. So Aziraphale couldn’t see how he was feeling. He sighed. 

It was fine. It had been an hour or so. Maybe Aziraphale had calmed down. Crowley would go to dinner. He’d apologize and then he’d make some sort of excuse for leaving in the morning so he could do what he’d firmly told himself to do. Which was put space between him and Aziraphale. Enough space that maybe Crowley could forget everything that had happened. Mark it down as a one-off. An indiscretion.

And then in a hundred years or so, he and Aziraphale would be right as rain. Desperate kisses long forgotten.

Crowley stepped out into the hallway and nearly ran into a young woman with straight brown hair who looked vaguely familiar. She glared daggers at him as she passed. With a shock, he realized it was Aziraphale’s lady’s maid. She was probably none too fond of him if Aziraphale had spoken to her.

He gave her a half-hearted wave and she snorted derisively before marching off down the hall. That was not a good sign.

The hall was bustling when Crowley entered. Things had died down since the tourney so Crowley wasn’t entirely sure what had happened for so many people to be there. Then he saw it.

The handsome blue-eyed knight was talking to Aziraphale in the corner, a crooked smile on his face as he leaned in to say something. Aziraphale laughed and put a hand to his mouth as if he couldn’t contain his mirth.

The knight reached out and brushed Aziraphale’s hair back from his face, trailing his fingers over Aziraphale’s cheekbone. The angel turned pink.

Crowley felt rage burn through him. Rage at Aziraphale. Rage at himself.

Aziraphale looked over at him and his mouth fell open. He took a quick step away from the handsome—so fucking handsome—knight as if he’d been caught out. It only stoked Crowley’s anger higher, into something blazing.

No matter what Crowley had told himself, he realized he’d still held a glimmer of hope that Aziraphale truly wanted him. That this _ was _ the beginning of something more. To have his idiotic hopes so thoroughly dashed because Aziraphale was giggling with some _ human _ had Crowley’s heart twisting in his chest. He’d been a fool.

Turning on his heel, Crowley left the hall, snapping himself down to Hell before he thought it through and storming into Beelzebub’s office. 

“I need an assignment,” he said. He needed a distraction. Something to prevent him from replaying the way Aziraphale had looked while someone else had pushed his hair back from his face and made him turn that pink color that Crowley loved so much.

Beelzebub looked up and grinned one of their pustulent grins. “Perfect timing, Crowley. I have just the thing.”

Maybe this had been a bit of a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plot??? in MY smut??? it's more likely than you think  
there is now fanart of this chapter by @mordelle that can be seen [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21875770)


	4. Outside of Swaffham

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by [@poetic-nonsense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetic_nonsense/pseuds/poetic_nonsense) who suffered through the 5 versions of this chapter and ultimately upped the thirst factor by a significant margin  
(also, if you're not reading their fic [A Few More Rescues](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21695302/chapters/51745309), you should be. Swoon content 11/10)

How _dare_ Crowley call him selfish? After everything they’d done for each other. The utter gall!

Once Aziraphale was in his own chambers, he sank down onto the bed and took several deep breaths. He felt like weeping. Which was ridiculous. He and Crowley had fought before. All the time, in fact. Some...some shared kisses didn’t change their history.

Aziraphale’s heart thudded pathetically in his chest. He wished Crowley had never kissed him. If he’d never kissed him then Aziraphale could have spent the rest of eternity pretending he didn’t have these feelings.

“Lady Aziraphale?” Alice said, easing open the door to his chambers and poking her head inside.

Aziraphale looked up and gave Alice a watery smile. She was by his side immediately. “What happened? Are you alright?”

Trying to wave her off, Aziraphale said, “Yes, I just...I’ve fought with Crowley and he said—”

Aziraphale broke off as his throat closed up. He desperately didn’t want to cry.

"What did he say?” Alice said, voice harsh even as she placed a soft hand atop Aziraphale’s.

“He called me selfish,” Aziraphale said in a small voice and Alice sucked in a breath.

“That bastard,” Alice hissed and that startled a wet laugh out of Aziraphale.

“Don’t let anyone hear you talking like that," he admonished without any real heat.

Alice ignored him and squeezed his hand. “You’re the least selfish person I know, lady. Ever since you’ve come here it feels like all our burdens have been lighter. With the way you’re always helping Lord Walter and Lady Emony, you’d think you never grow tired. We’re all better for having known you. I know I am.”

That made Aziraphale tear up for an entirely different reason. “Oh, Alice.”

Aziraphale held her hand in both of his and took several more deep breaths before saying, “Perhaps that’s enough about me. How are _you_, dear? Did you need anything?”

Alice looked at him, her fine eyebrows lowering as if she did not like him trying to change the subject. “It’s nearly supper time and I wanted to see if you needed help changing.”

Oh. Supper. With all the excitement, Aziraphale had forgotten that the rest of the world was still going on with its business.

“Yes, I suppose I should make an appearance,” Aziraphale said, standing up and brushing off his dress.

“Lord Walter wouldn’t blame you if you stayed in for an evening.”

Aziraphale gave her a small smile. “I believe I’ll be alright.”

“And if Sir Crowley is there?” Alice ventured.

“Well, he can apologize if he so desires,” Aziraphale said, even though the thought of not speaking to Crowley—not apologizing—made pain lance through his chest. But no, Crowley needed to apologize first. He’d been cruel and that wasn’t Aziraphale’s fault.

Alice nodded sharply, a soldier obeying orders. “If that’s the case, then let’s put you in your cream and gold dress. If he doesn’t fall to his knees seeing you in that then he doesn’t deserve you.”

Aziraphale didn’t know what he had done to deserve Alice, but he wasn’t about to complain.

* * *

Dressed in his flowing cream and gold gown, Aziraphale accidentally became the focus of a great deal of attention at supper.

Crowley wasn’t there and Aziraphale wished he wasn’t quite so disappointed by his absence, but he had very little time to linger on it because every single gentleman (and then some) kept coming up to engage him in conversation. Their eyes would flick between his bosom—which, yes, was more on display than usual—and his mouth as they made inane and sometimes bordering on lewd comments.

Really, it was quite uncomfortable. Aziraphale’s more masculine corporation had never garnered him this much attention and he was ill-equipped to handle it.

To his surprise—though perhaps it shouldn’t have been—Sir John swooped in to tear him away from Sir George, who was drunkenly trying to explain something about horses and becoming a bit too handsy at that.

“Lady Aziraphale,” Sir John said with one of his most heart-stopping smiles—oh dear, he really was unfairly attractive. “Could you come with me for a moment? I have something I’d like to discuss.”

John gave him a meaningful look and Aziraphale perked up immediately. “Oh yes, I’ll just—excuse me, Sir George.”

George looked on blearily as Aziraphale stood and trailed after Sir John, who came to a stop by the far wall closest to the fire. “You’re causing quite a stir,” he said, leaning against the stone wall, still smiling that devastating smile.

If Aziraphale weren’t so absolutely gone on Crowley, he was certain he’d be melting under the sheer strength of that smile.

“I know probably every man in this hall has said it, but you do look lovely tonight,” John said and his smile faltered for a moment, something genuine and nervous peeking out. “But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I’ll leave it at that.”

Aziraphale’s stomach fluttered. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m—I’m certainly not—well, I don’t exactly deserve the attention.”

John looked at him very seriously. “You deserve every bit of it.”

Aziraphale swallowed. Oh dear.

Then he smiled again, a bit lopsided. “Well, maybe not George’s sloppy advances—but the compliments? You deserve those.”

Aziraphale laughed and thought that perhaps, in a different situation, he and John could have been good friends. As it was, he didn’t want to lead him on. He seemed a kind fellow and Aziraphale didn’t want to hurt him.

John’s smile fell again, replaced by such an openly besotted expression that even Aziraphale felt a tug in his belly. Reaching out and brushing a lock of Aziraphale’s hair behind his ear, John said, “You have a lovely laugh. I’d like to hear it more often.”

Aziraphale blushed, not sure what to say. It was... well, it was awfully flattering. Embarrassed, he couldn’t help looking away. This wasn’t at all how he had expected to spend his evening.

He looked towards the door and his eyes caught on a familiar black tunic, red serpent embroidered down the front. Crowley! His heart skipped as he began to smile. He'd come to dinner and they could finally talk. But when he met Crowley’s gaze, he gasped at the hurt he saw there.

In all their time together, he’d never seen Crowley look like _that_. They’d met on the battlefield, in courts, in the muck, and Crowley always laughed or teased him through their friendly rivalry. But right then he looked like Aziraphale had reached into his ribs with careless fingers to tug at his beating heart.

Instinctively, he took a step forward, but Crowley was already turning on his heel and storming out of the room. Aziraphale’s stomach went cold.

When he looked back at John, the man had followed his gaze and his previously bright expression had turned resigned. “I suppose I don’t have a chance, do I?”

Aziraphale looked at his hands. “I’m sorry, you’re very kind but—”

“But I’m not him,” John said softly. He reached out and brushed his fingers over Aziraphale’s elbow. Aziraphale felt a fleeting spark of attraction that faded quickly under the shame that was tight in his stomach.

“I am sorry,” Aziraphale said. And he meant it.

John sighed. “He looked upset. Perhaps you should go after him?”

Aziraphale nodded and left the room with as much purpose as he could muster, but when he stepped out of the dining hall, Crowley was nowhere to be found.

* * *

Aziraphale hadn’t been at breakfast long when Crowley made an appearance. Sucking in a sharp breath, Aziraphale sat up straighter. So he hadn't left the night before. They could still talk.

Aziraphale had worked it all out while he had laid awake, staring at the ceiling and trying to pinpoint exactly what went wrong and what he would say so that Crowley could understand._ It seems you think this relationship doesn’t mean to me what it means to you. Of course it does. I’m sorry you saw me and John in the hall. I turned him away. It’s you Crowley, only you. And if you didn’t know that already then I have let you down._

But all of Aziraphale’s fine plans fell away when Crowley edged into the room, eyes anywhere but on Aziraphale as he approached the table.

“Milord,” he said with an overly obsequious bow that had Walter laughing.

“Stop playing at court, Serpent. What do you want?” Walter said, putting down his cup and gesturing for Crowley to speak.

“Want? Nothing you can give me, milord,” Crowley returned, sounding careless and teasing. It was an old tone, one that Aziraphale recognized from long ago— from their early acquaintance, when Crowley was always on edge, but still trying to play the indifferent rogue. “Was just passing through to tell you I’ve got to head back my way. Bit of business.”

Leaving? Crowley was leaving? And now he was in the hall not looking at Aziraphale like he didn’t give two figs about the fact that they had almost made love.

Aziraphale gripped his spoon in a steadily tightening fist.

“Ah,” Walter said, and he cast a sharp glance at Aziraphale, as if worried about his reaction. “That’s too bad. We don’t quite have that trade we discussed ready so…”

“Just send folks down with the grain when you’re ready. I’ll throw in some extra pears for your troubles,” Crowley said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ve got plenty.”

“Right,” Walter said slowly, glancing between Aziraphale and Crowley and then clearing his throat. “Well, safe travels. And you’re welcome to visit whenever you’re free.”

Crowley bowed again and—still not looking at Aziraphale—strode from the room like he had hell itself on his heels. The spoon snapped in Aziraphale’s hand.

Walter turned to Aziraphale with a mystified expression and said, “What on Earth—”

Aziraphale waved him off, already on his feet and following after Crowley, nearly tripping over his skirt in his hurry. He didn’t care. He and Crowley were going to have words and they were going to have them right now.

Leaving! How dare he?

“Get back here, you idiot,” Aziraphale demanded, stopping in the middle of the courtyard and shouting after Crowley.

The demon froze and turned slowly. His lips were pulled back into a facsimile of a grin that had Aziraphale flinching. It was forced and terrifying in its falseness. Aziraphale hadn’t seen Crowley looking like that for a very long time. Not since after they started the Arrangement. He’d forgotten how much he hated it.

“Aziraphale! You seem to like chasing after me. Making a habit, are we?” Crowley called out, and Aziraphale froze in his tracks at his overly friendly tone.

What was happening? Why was Crowley shutting him out like this? They had fought, yes, but this was ridiculous. Aziraphale wanted to rant or to stomp his foot. Or punch Crowley in his stupid nose.

“I want to speak with you,” Aziraphale said, holding his ground and hoping Crowley would close the distance between them.

Crowley gestured expansively like Aziraphale should just pour out his heart right there in the courtyard. So Aziraphale marched the rest of the way across the yard and came to a stop right in front of him.

“I would like to speak with you _alone_,” Aziraphale hissed. He had things he wanted to say—that he had practiced—and he didn’t exactly want to say them where anyone could hear.

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Nah, don’t feel like it.”

Aziraphale felt like he was talking with a wall. A snarky, irritating wall.

Aziraphale really did stomp his foot. “Stop this. Stop acting like this.”

“Acting like what?” Crowley retorted, tilting his chin defiantly.

“Like—like nothing’s happened!” Aziraphale said, upset enough that his voice wavered. He felt ridiculous and with Crowley staring down at him with an arched brow, he also felt small.

Crowley grimaced and his mask slipped, hands coming up as if to touch Aziraphale. "Shit, angel, don’t—shit, don’t cry.”

Aziraphale rubbed at his eyes, feeling more foolish by the second. “You’re being purposefully cruel.”

“Just let me leave, Aziraphale,” Crowley said on a sigh. He looked so tired and Aziraphale had no idea what to do. He wanted to apologize and talk and here Crowley was, running away. “I just want to leave.”

“But I—let me explain,” Aziraphale pleaded. He had all those fine words but in the face of Crowley looking like this, drawn, ill, _broken-hearted_, they slipped away. “You have to let me apologize. I think perhaps we’ve misunderstood each other. If you’ll just—”

“I’ve got an assignment,” Crowley said, a bit too quick and a bit too loud. “And I should really get to it. While I’m sure your explanations are _fascinating_, I don’t exactly have time. My lot aren’t big on patience, y’know."

Aziraphale bit down on his acerbic retort before it could leave his mouth. He didn’t think Crowley was lying, but that didn’t do much to allay his frustration. He laid a hand on Crowley’s arm and tried to meet his eye. The demon kept his gaze fixed in the distance

"Will you at least tell me where? So we can talk after," Aziraphale said.

“Just a quick thing in Swaffham. Something about a priest. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter,” Crowley said, and he tugged his arm away.

“A priest?” Aziraphale said, tripping after him as he moved. “That sounds dangerous.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I’ve got it handled.”

“No. I’m not letting you leave just to go—go get discorporated. Let me—let me give you something. So you can call me.”

Aziraphale looked down at his dress and uselessly patted himself down. Women really did keep very little on them these days. Crowley sighed and looked away, hesitating a moment before rooting around in a pouch on his hip. He pulled out the ribbon Aziraphale had given him.

Aziraphale’s heart sped up at the sight, and he lost his train of thought entirely. Crowley had kept it. Even with his injuries, he’d made sure to keep it. Looking ashamed, Crowley stuffed it in Aziraphale’s hand, the brush of their fingers enough to make Aziraphale want to chase the contact.

“Fine,” Crowley said, sounding embarrassed and irritated in equal parts. “Here.”

Taking the ribbon with careful fingers—oh, one end was frayed and there was a spatter of blood—Aziraphale passed his hand over it, repairing the damage and giving it a quick blessing.

Aziraphale fixed him with a beseeching look before taking his hand and placing the ribbon in the center of his palm. "Crowley, please,” he managed thickly. “Call on me if you need help. We can speak when you get back."

Crowley stared at him like he wanted to say something, and for a single heartbreaking moment, Aziraphale hoped he would stay, but then he turned away and left Aziraphale alone.

* * *

A few days on a horse would do Crowley some good. A thought he never anticipated having. But just a day ago he’d had his hand down Aziraphale’s knickers and his tongue in Aziraphale’s mouth and, well, he needed a distraction.

A long and uncomfortable ride on a horse would be just the ticket.

Crowley spent most of the first few hours focusing on the discomfort of the saddle under his arse. Eventually he numbed to it and he began to think of Aziraphale.

Of course he bloody did.

He couldn’t forget the way Aziraphale had looked under that bastard of a knight’s attentions. So flattered and pink. Apparently, that look wasn’t just for Crowley and, idiot that he was, he had believed he was special for one stupid moment while he had Aziraphale kissing him in his chambers.

And he wanted to stay angry—he desperately wanted to stay angry, because if he was angry, he wouldn’t keep letting Aziraphale convince him that any of this was a good idea—but then Aziraphale had come after him when he had tried to leave. He had looked up at Crowley with wide, sparkling gray eyes and said _stop acting like this_ as if Crowley was breaking _his_ heart.

Crowley kicked his horse into a canter. He needed to get to Swaffham. He needed to get to work. And he needed to forget about Aziraphale, even though he could still feel the ribbon Aziraphale had blessed in his pocket, heavy as a stone and unforgettable.

* * *

Swaffham was much as Crowley remembered. Still too many people. Still decidedly boring. Not that his bloody keep was any better. At least he had work to do out here.

He bought lodging at the first inn with available rooms, tossing the proprietor a few extra coins to look after his horse. He’d finally gotten this one trained up and wasn’t exactly keen on having it stolen.

First order of business, get drunk.

And then, once he was drunk, make a plan.

One thing that could be said for Swaffham was that the ale was decent. All that commerce made for good pickings when it came to food and drink. Maybe he should bring Aziraphale to…

He stopped the thought in its tracks and waved down the serving maid. She scuttled over with the largest amount of ale they sold in a single cup and then rushed off, seemingly nervous because of Crowley’s gruff demeanor. Well, whatever. Crowley was brassed off. He had good reason to be. So he drank.

And then drank some more.

Finally, when his limbs were loose and he felt less like the embodiment of a storm cloud, he heaved himself out of the tavern and took to the streets. Beelzebub had said a priest. So he just needed to track down some of the local churches—place like Swaffham probably only had one or two—figure out what the issue was and call it a day. He was pretty sure Beelzebub said something about a relic he needed to steal or destroy. Or both. He’d just set it on fire and call it good.

He passed through taverns trying to gather information. He wasn’t sloshed but he was drunk and he found it easier to talk to the humans when they were both a bit tipsy. Humans were highly suggestible after a few drinks.

It should have been easy. Get a name. Get out.

With the drinking establishments starting to empty out, Crowley decided to call it a night. He now knew there was a priest who liked performing exorcisms. Declared himself some sort of denizen of the Lord on Earth. Crowley would figure out more tomorrow after he slept off all the ale. Or that was the plan until a demon he didn't recognize hauled him into an alley and Crowley felt a force surrounding him like a candle being snuffed. It had been about a thousand years since he’d felt that sensation. Oh shit.

He snapped his fingers and, sure enough, his powers were gone. Of course, Beelzebub would pick _now_ for a performance review.

Another demon popped into existence beside him, a mirror of the other.

"Beelzebub said we should watch out for you. Big shot Crowley. That you wouldn’t go down without a big fight," said one of them and then he looked at his friend. "Pretty easy if you ask me. Don’t know what all the fuss was about."

Crowley leapt to his feet and swung his fist into the demons face. He crumpled, crying out and clutching at his nose.

The second demon quickly used his powers to tie Crowley’s hands and feet, knocking him back on his arse with a sneer. The demon he had punched kicked him in the chest and he fell back into the dirt. Not good. The demon knelt in front of him. “Get the relic from the priest and get out of Swaffham without powers. Until then, Beelzebub said to consider your performance review failed.”

The unpunched demon snapped his fingers and Crowley’s vision went black.

When he came to, he was in a cage and all his belongings were gone—including his clothes. He swore. Everything smelled of cloying damp and it was bloody _dark._ He scrambled to his feet only to find his wrists chained. A man was tapping at the bars of the cage.

“So you really are a demon,” the man said speculatively. “Eyes like that…”

When he came into the light of the torch, Crowley say his robes. A priest.

"The town has been plagued you know. Perhaps it's been you. We won’t know until I burn you out of that vessel and release whatever poor soul you've possessed in order to walk among us."

Crowley let his head thunk against the wall. Beelzebub really had it in for him, didn't they?

* * *

A week passed with no word from Crowley and Aziraphale began to grow nervous. He wondered if he could make excuses and get to Swaffham himself, ask after a red-haired man and make sure Crowley was still alive somewhere in the world.

On the tenth day, Aziraphale’s nerves got the better of him. Citing illness, he took to his room and locked the door. With a deep breath, Aziraphale miracled himself into a tunic and out of Walter’s keep and into the outskirts of Swaffham. It was a risky thing to do. Aziraphale had only been to the markets at Swaffham nearly five years ago and he vaguely remembered a secluded area outside the town where he had paused to let his horse graze. If the town had expanded, it was possible he’d pop right into a group of people.

Thankfully, when Aziraphale popped into existence, the grove was empty and when he stepped out of the treeline he saw Swaffham in the distance, bustling with people.

All Aziraphale had to go on was something about trouble with a priest. He hoped that was enough.

It turned out it was more than enough because in the dead center of the market was a wild eyed man selling tickets to a live exorcism.

A brief miracle and two questions later Aziraphale knew Crowley was being held in the church on the east side of town by someone named Rodrick who was rather well known for his particular flair for the dramatic. Apparently, he was quite the showman when it came to exorcisms.

Aziraphale had been to many churches. He was an angel of the Lord. Of course he had been to churches. Unfortunately, he’d never had to break into one before. There were the beginnings of people milling about outside, surely drawn by all this talk of exorcism. And, thank goodness, the ground didn’t seem to be consecrated so Crowley wasn’t burning up inside somewhere. The front door of the church was locked and Aziraphale didn’t exactly fancy knocking it down with a herd of people watching him so he sought out a second entrance and, when no one could see him, he unlocked it with a quick wave of his hand.

Aziraphale pushed inside and found himself in a dimly lit corridor. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the little tingle that was Crowley’s demonic presence, the one he usually ignored. Once he picked up the thread, he followed it like a divining rod and found his way down a flight of stairs and in front of a locked door which opened with a small miracle.

A guttering torch was the only light illuminating the room when he stepped inside. Movement from the corner drew his attention and he saw Crowley, pushing himself into a standing position, face and body obscured by the thick bars of a cage. His whole world froze as he took in the sight of that beloved face even as it was, half-consumed by shadows.

Aziraphale rushed to the bars, nearly overwhelmed with relief. Crowley was still here, not discorporated or hurt.

Well, mostly not hurt. Aziraphale felt a harsh wave of sympathy when he saw the bruises on his bare chest, the awful welts around his wrists like he’d been chained and not allowed to heal.

He was also very, very nude.

Aziraphale forcefully reminded himself that now was not the time to ogle because Crowley looked drawn and filthy, hidden in this dank room with no real light.

“Angel?” Crowley said, sounding confused. He moved closer to the bars, wrapping his fingers around one and drawing close. Aziraphale’s heart ached. “What are you doing here?”

“Darling, oh, you look awful,” Aziraphale said, tentatively wrapping his own hand around Crowley’s.

Crowley snorted but when he spoke he sounded more relieved than offended. “Thanks, angel. Always know how to make me feel good about myself.”

Aziraphale laughed weakly and pulled away to find the door to the cell. “What are you doing stuck in there?”

When he looked back at Crowley, the demon looked sheepish.

Aziraphale put his hands on his hips. He knew that look. “Crowley, what happened?”

“It was a trap,” Crowley mumbled, eyes darting to the side.

“What?” Aziraphale cried. A trap? Who was trying to _trap_ Crowley?

Crowley turned away and pushed his hair out of his eyes. The movement drew Aziraphale’s attention to the pull of muscles in his arm as he moved. Oh dear. “Look, how was I supposed to know Beelzebub was trying to conduct a performance review? Cutting off my powers and everything.”

“So is that why you’re…” Aziraphale said with an awkward gesture at Crowley’s general being.

“Stuck here? Or starkers? Yes to both. No powers to speak of and a megalomaniac priest is somewhere waiting to try to _exorcise_ me which...in this state, means nothing good.”

“Do you know when you’ll get your powers back?”

“Not til I get out of Swaffham. That’s what the goons Beelzebub sent implied anyway.”

Aziraphale frowned and ran his hands over the bars, finding the seam of the door. “It sounds to me like you need a bit of divine intervention, don’t you think?”

He raised one eyebrow—feeling a bit flirtatious, if he was honest—and when he snapped his fingers, the bars disappeared.

Crowley sagged with relief.

“Now, where are your clothes?” Aziraphale asked. Without the bars obscuring most of him, he could see all the harsh lines of Crowley’s body, the shadows of his thin muscles stretched over his abdomen, the curved line of his hip bones where they flowed down to his pelvis and his...Aziraphale focused purposefully on Crowley’s eyes. It was clear that all this fighting and playing at knights had really done quite a bit for emphasizing the parts of Crowley’s body that Aziraphale had always secretly admired.

Aziraphale couldn’t resist reaching out and placing his hand on Crowley’s chest. The feel of his skin, hot under his hand, had Aziraphale’s heart racing. What would Crowley do if he kissed him right then?

Crowley grabbed his hand to stop it from wandering. Oh, had Aziraphale started to trail his fingers down his chest? He didn’t remember doing that. He felt heat begin to settle, heavy between his legs.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Crowley said, voice tight.

Aziraphale froze, realizing his gaze had fixed somewhere around Crowley’s belly button.“What?”

“Like you’re going to eat me alive,” Crowley said, shifting on his feet which only served to draw Aziraphale’s attention to the movement of his abdomen. Oh, goodness, he _did_ look good enough to eat.

Aziraphale pursed his lips and averted his eyes, feeling caught out. “Right, yes. Sorry, you just look very, well...I’m sure you know how you look.”

“Glad to know dirty and skeletal gets you going. Can you help me out of here, angel? Or are we going to continue this little staring contest?” Crowley said. His eyes were a brilliant yellow in the dim light of the torch and it did nothing to help how much Aziraphale wanted him.

“Of course I’ll help you,” Aziraphale said, trying to push away his truly unfair reaction to Crowley. Why did he have to feel this way when there was absolutely no way he could do anything about it? He cleared his throat and tried to focus on the issue at hand. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“They took the blasted ribbon,” Crowley said with a scowl. “Along with every other bloody thing on my body.”

“What does a demon need with worldly possessions?” a voice asked from the shadows and when Aziraphale turned a man emerged from the doorway.

“Crowley, get behind me,” Aziraphale said, voice low as he put one arm out, trying to center his body in front of the demon.

Crowley snorted.

“Now is not the time, Crowley. Or must I remind you that you have _no powers_?”

Grumbling, Crowley scuffled his feet until Aziraphale felt him close behind his back.

“Are you Rodrick?” Aziraphale asked, doing his best to be polite. If the man was a priest then surely he must be slightly reasonable. “I heard you were holding a demon.”

The man folded his hands in front of him and said, “I am Rodrick. I’ve been tasked with burning this demon from the earth. And who are you?”

Aziraphale decided he did not like Rodrick. He didn’t like the lay of his brown hair across his forehead. He didn’t like his bony hands. And he didn’t like his beady little eyes. Perhaps that was unkind of him but there it was.

“If you would be so kind as to return my friend’s belongings, we shall be on our way and you can continue your business here unharmed,” Aziraphale said. Right now, Rodrick was between them and the only exit and Aziraphale might be able to use his powers to save Crowley but he certainly wasn’t supposed to use them in front of humans.

Rodrick pulled out a knife and rushed at him, clearly unskilled and expecting brute force to do the trick. Aziraphale grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it behind his back, shoving him to the ground until his knee was squarely in Rodrick’s back.

Crowley made a choked noise behind him and when Aziraphale turned back to make sure he was alright, the demon looked very pink. “Could you take that knife, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, nodding towards the fallen blade.

Crowley mumbled something but obeyed Aziraphale’s request.

Aziraphale placed his free hand on the back of Rodrick’s skull and with a short pulse of power, put him to sleep.

Standing quickly, Aziraphale brushed off his hands and turned to Crowley. “We’d better go I think.”

“Not that I don’t like running around in the nude, but do you think I could get my clothes?”

“Oh, yes, sorry,” Aziraphale said. He had gotten distracted what with all the knives and excitement.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, manifesting a surcoat and shirt for Crowley before taking his hand and popping them out of the cellar back into the grove outside Swaffham. “Best not show your face here for a bit, hm?” Aziraphale said as he turned to look at Crowley.

Crowley began to pace and groaned in frustration. “Beelzebub’s really going to have me by the bollocks.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands. “Has this ever happened before?”

Crowley paused and gave him an arch look. “What? Performance reviews? Yeah, loads. Never failed one before. Though I did get out of Swaffham without my powers so Beelzebub might consider it a wash. Even if I didn't complete the assignment.”

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said, heart sinking. He doubted Hell handled their performance reviews any better than Heaven. And those usually resulted in miracle allowances and stern lectures from Gabriel. “Will you—will you be alright?”

Crowley let out a long breath. “I’ve been doing good work. Or bad work. Whatever. Doubt it’ll be anything other than a lecture and few less than savory assignments.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Aziraphale asked even though he already knew the answer. But he found he was glad he asked when Crowley graced him with a wry smile.

“Nice offer, but no,” Crowley said softly—oh, dear, earnestly—and Aziraphale’s stomach flipped. How had ever thought himself even remotely attracted to Sir John when he could feel like _this_?

“Crowley, I—”

Aziraphale took a step forward and Crowley’s face fell. “Aziraphale…” he began.

Feeling foolish and cowed by Crowley’s distressed expression, Aziraphale froze. “Is it really such a hardship to kiss me?” he snapped.

“Hardship? No. Bad idea? Yes,” Crowley retorted, lip curling.

“If you’d just _listen_ to me, you’d know that this isn’t a bad idea! But you’re so caught up in— in—”

“I wasn’t the one flirting with Sir Blue Eyes,” Crowley tossed out, all sharp teeth and flashing eyes.

Aziraphale sucked in a breath as his stomach turned over. That wasn’t fair at all. Crowley had refused to let him explain and now he was just going to lord it over him? Absolutely not. “We were _talking_.”

“Right, of course. Must have mistaken the look on your face. S’not like I haven’t seen it every bloody time I’ve kissed you,” Crowley said and now he was shouting and his words were stoking Aziraphale’s anger with every syllable.

Not able to listen to Crowley’s nonsense for another second, Aziraphale slammed his hand into Crowley’s chest, relished his short gasp of surprise and yanked him down into a kiss. It was in that moment that Aziraphale realized he’d been letting Crowley do the kissing. It had been Crowley’s hands in his hair, Crowley’s mouth moving over his. Not anymore.

Standing up his tiptoes, Aziraphale slipped his arms around Crowley’s neck so he could control the kiss. Without any hesitation, Crowley’s hands found his hips and held on as if for dear life as Aziraphale parted Crowley’s lips with his tongue, a tentative caress that had Crowley surging to take control, but Aziraphale wouldn’t have it. He was kissing Crowley because he wanted to. Because Crowley was the only person he wanted to kiss and the demon couldn’t seem to get that through his thick skull.

Aziraphale let his hands drop to Crowley’s belt and swiftly realized that was a mistake when Crowley pulled away so fast that Aziraphale nearly stumbled face first into the forest floor.

Crowley caught him with one arm and helped steady him before stepping away entirely and looking anywhere but at Aziraphale. “Aziraphale, please. Not right—not right now.”

In the tentative thread of his voice, Aziraphale thought he heard a _never_.

Trying to come up with some response through the hammering of his heart, Aziraphale looked at his feet. Before he could speak, Crowley drew close and put a light hand on his elbow. “Should get you back home, yeah?”

“Yes, I—” This was all going so wrong. They’d been kissing and Crowley had been holding him and now...

“I’ve got to pop back to mine. They stole my bloody horse," Crowley said with a long sigh.

“But you’ll…” Aziraphale hesitated. “I'll see you soon, yes?”

Crowley smiled at him and Aziraphale thought he looked sad. Why was he looking like that?

“Couldn’t keep me away, angel,” Crowley said, sounding resigned. Then he snapped his fingers, and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> historical notes: Swaffham is a real place and it was, in fact, known for commerce.


	5. Crowley's Keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by [@poetic-nonsense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetic_nonsense/pseuds/poetic_nonsense) who declared themself my High Romance adviser which is a title that could not be more accurate
> 
> brief warning for some mild historical misogyny

Aziraphale sat in the meeting with Lord Walter and his steward and tried not to sigh. It was his job to be here, to listen in and offer gentle guidance so that the town and region would prosper. But this was the boring bit of his work. He much preferred going out and blessing fields and families, not these politics.

It didn’t help that all Aziraphale could think about was the look on Crowley’s face in the grove outside of Swaffham. The demon had looked devastated. It had been two weeks with no word from Crowley and Aziraphale was beginning to suspect he wouldn’t hear from him at all. The fierce hope Aziraphale had felt during their time together was beginning to fail and he had no idea what to do.

“Aziraphale?”

Walter’s voice drew his attention and he forced himself to focus. “Yes, my lord?”

Walter gave him a questioning look but pushed forward. “Simon was proposing a new way to fortify the keep using the money we made from the tourney. But I’m not sure that’s how I want to be spending it. I thought you might have an opinion.”

One of the many things Aziraphale liked about Walter was how democratic he was. He liked to hear his wife’s opinion on almost all his decisions and once Aziraphale had arrived, his voice had been added to the mix. 

“Perhaps investing in the farmers or lowering taxes?” Aziraphale offered. He knew the laypeople in the town and surrounding villages had had a difficult couple of years given the cold weather keeping their harvests poor.

Walter hummed and looked at his wife who nodded. “I agree with Lady Aziraphale. The townspeople have had a difficult time and with this extra income, we won’t need their taxes.”

Walter scratched something out on the parchment in front of him and said, “I’ll think on it.”

With that, Walter dismissed the group, but stopped Aziraphale from leaving. “I have something I wish to discuss with you.”

That didn’t sound promising. Resuming his seat, Aziraphale did his best to look patient as Walter worked up to say whatever was on his mind.

He hesitated for a moment and then tapped his fingers on the table, looking uncomfortable before fixing Aziraphale with his intelligent brown eyes. “This is a difficult conversation to have but I’ve delayed too long. Not to put too fine a point on it, but you’re older than most unmarried women, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale immediately knew where this was going. Crowley had warned him. At the time Aziraphale had thought it one of Crowley’s many excuses, but Aziraphale should have known better. His heart dropped. Pressure to get married wouldn’t end well. Aziraphale certainly couldn’t stay with Walter if he was expected to get married. Another angel would have to take over his assignment.

“I thought you and the Serpent had an understanding, but he informed me that wasn’t the case. With that in mind, I’m going to have to encourage you to pursue other offers.”

“Other offers?” Aziraphale squeaked. 

Walter looked at him sadly. “I didn’t marry for love, but I like to think Emony and I have found some measure of happiness. You will as well. Sir John seems very taken with you and would be a good prospect if you wanted to—”

“No!” Aziraphale half-shouted. Walter’s eyes went wide and Aziraphale fidgeted in his seat, tugging at his skirt and trying to act as demure as possible. “I mean, I’ll entertain other offers if you think it necessary, but must I? Marry, that is?”

“You and I both know it’s unwise for you to stay unmarried. You’re in your prime, Aziraphale. Men from towns all around want to vie for your attentions. You should capitalize on that. When I’m no longer around, you’ll need someone to care for you. In good conscience, I can’t let you remain unmarried.”

Walter was clearly trying to be encouraging, but it just made Aziraphale’s chest ache. 

“And Crowley really said that we weren’t…” He didn’t have the heart to ask.

“Perhaps you should speak with Sir Crowley about that,” Walter said diplomatically and then paused, scratching at the few days growth of beard on his chin absentmindedly. “You know, I’m sending a few men down with Simon to Crowley’s land for an exchange of goods. Perhaps you and Alice could go along and stay there for a few days. You can have that conversation and when you come back you can let me know if I need to start arranging things elsewhere.”

Aziraphale wanted to protest, but then he thought on the opportunity at hand. He’d be at Crowley’s keep. Where there were less people.

They could talk.

And even if—even if Crowley rejected him once and for all, at least Aziraphale could say goodbye. Heaven would certainly reassign him with this newfound snag in their plan. Angels didn’t get married and that wasn’t about to change.

Swallowing down his nerves, Aziraphale said, “That would—I would greatly appreciate it.”

* * *

Crowley’s servants knew better than to bother him when he was like this. And yet, that girl from the kitchens—Margary, too-big blue eyes and a no-nonsense expression—seemed to refuse to let him sulk. She was always checking in to make sure he ate. He wanted to throw things at her but managed not to, reminding himself that it was useless and he didn’t need to be a prick. He felt ashamed enough.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Aziraphale, some needling hope in his mind trying to convince him to go back to Walter, to hear Aziraphale out. But it wasn’t worth it. That way lay only heartbreak.

“Get over it, you pathetic sod,” he snapped aloud instead of working out the ledgers like he was supposed to be doing. He should get a bloody steward and be done with it. Seemed undemonic, having a steward. Not that doing ledgers was somehow better.

He needed to get out of the keep, go make some trouble. His last assignment—before that disaster of a performance review in Swaffham—had wrapped up ages ago so he’d just been squatting here outside of Essex and playing at lord. It was all well and good for the comfort of it, but the daily tasks were excruciatingly boring.

There was a knock at the door and he groaned. “Come in,” he growled and sure enough it was that servant girl. 

“Sir Crowley,” she said slipping into the room and leaving the door open. “You didn’t come to dinner. I’ve brought you some bread and ale.”

Ale sounded good. Bread did not.

“Leave it,” he snapped, with a harsh gesture at the table in front of him.

The girl set it down, lingering for a moment. Crowley looked up at her and demanded, “What?”

“Pardon me, sir, but your ledger,” she began, staring him down. For some reason, he wanted to squirm. “Your arithmetic”—she pointed at a column of numbers—“It’s off just here. That should be 51.”

Crowley stared down at the paper and reran the numbers. 

He smiled.

“Margary, is it?” he asked, putting down his quill. 

She nodded.

“How would you like a promotion?”

* * *

With a heavy heart, Aziraphale ascended to Heaven and knocked on Gabriel’s office door, hoping the archangel was in. Aziraphale hated dropping in unannounced. Thankfully, the door opened to Gabriel’s bright and pleased smile. “Aziraphale! What a surprise!”

Aziraphale tried not to shrink under the power of Gabriel’s stare. He was so...energetic. “Yes, I er, I’m afraid I’ve run into a bit of a snag.”

Gabriel stepped into his office and gestured for Aziraphale to follow and take a seat.

“A snag?” Gabriel asked as he slid behind his desk and into his own chair. 

“It’s simply that…well, if I stay at my post, Walter—the lord I’m working with—expects me to be married quite soon,” Aziraphale explained with no small amount of dread. He truly didn’t wish to be reassigned. “It’s unheard of for a woman to remain single for as long as I have and it’s drawing suspicion.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “Well, the solution is obvious.”

Aziraphale nodded, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. “Would you like me to train the replacement or…” he said.

Gabriel spoke over him. “Just get married.”

Aziraphale’s mouth clicked shut. He swallowed. “Ma-married?”

Gabriel shrugged and stood up from behind his desk. “It shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Is there—” Aziraphale broke off and tried to pick up the pieces of his words. He couldn’t believe his ears. “Does it need to be anyone in particular? Did you want to...assign me someone?”

Gabriel waved his hand. “I presume this Walter has a prospect in mind. Just marry the man, stay in the area, and get on with the work. Anyone will do. We need you on task. That part of the world is prospering exactly as the Almighty intended and your departure would ruin the entire plan.”

It was absolutely not what Aziraphale had expected.

It was also the best news possible. Because Walter did have a prospect in mind and if all Aziraphale to do was follow orders then...

“Alright,” Aziraphale said, heart racing. “I’ll just—I’ll just go.”

Gabriel nodded and waved him off, already absorbed in something else. “I look forward to your next report."

* * *

Crowley’s new squire was a disaster. He hadn’t taken on a squire for years because he didn’t need one but then Margary—from what was turning out to be a brilliant head on her shoulders—had mentioned that a squire would take some of the additional work off of Crowley and he’d reconsidered. But this green _child_ was an _idiot_.

“That is _not_ how you saddle a horse,” Crowley said, yanking the straps of the saddle from the boy’s hands.

The lad looked at him with wide terrified eyes and Crowley deflated. “Come here, you fool. I’ll bloody show you. Did no one ever explain how to handle a horse?”

Tim shook his head and let his hands fall to his sides, looking a bit ashamed. Frowning because he absolutely did not want to have to do this, Crowley put a supportive hand on his back.

“S’fine. I’ll show you. Just not on an actual horse unless you’re looking for a kick in the bollocks.”

Tim swallowed hard but followed after Crowley as he hefted the saddle off the finicky horse and put it on the beam where it was stored.

Before he could begin to explain the process—and how to not agitate a horse—a commotion in the courtyard drew both their attention. Oh right, Walter’s goods were supposed to arrive. A bit early, but that wouldn’t hurt.

Tucking his gloves into his belt, Crowley rolled his shoulders and prepared to go meet Simon, Walter’s steward. He was a bit of an idiot too but Crowley didn’t mind him over much. He just needed to fortify his patience. Which he didn’t have much of.

When he stepped out of the stables, his heart stopped in his chest when he saw Aziraphale in a beautiful blue dress, glorious hair tied back in braids, a veil on his head. He looked like sunshine after a storm, so bright that Crowley blinked several times to clear the phosphenes from his eyes.

“That your girl?” Tim asked quietly, sounding a bit breathless himself.

“Erm…” Crowley managed. “I-”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale called from atop his horse and Crowley was at his side immediately, as sure as the moon orbits the earth. He helped him off his horse, hands at his waist to lift him off.

Oh fuck, he’d felt that waist before. So soft and smooth and bloody perfect.

Crowley snatched his hands away even as Aziraphale flushed prettily and smoothed out the skirt of his dress.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed, glancing away for a moment as his eyes were drawn by the movement of Aziraphale’s lady’s maid stepping closer. Aziraphale waved her off and she looked at him suspiciously before stepping away and falling into conversation with someone else from Walter’s retinue.

“I have business to discuss and you didn’t contact me,” Aziraphale said petulantly, looking up at him with his stupidly beautiful, mercurial eyes. Right then they were a clear green, like sage or grass in the sun.

“I never said I would,” Crowley said, wanting to look away but finding himself unable to because Aziraphale was here, in his home, looking like he belonged. 

“You implied it,” Aziraphale hissed back, eyes flashing and Crowley should _not_ be thinking about how appealing Aziraphale looked with his color high and eyes bright. 

“Implied is not _said_,” Crowley pointed out.

Aziraphale groaned. “You are incorrigible.”

“It’s not my fault you hear what you want to hear,” Crowley said and he knew he sounded like he was sulking, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Aziraphale’s nostrils flared and Crowley thought for a moment that he was in for a good tongue lashing. Then Aziraphale sighed, eyelashes fluttering, before reaching out and delicately touching his wrist. “I’m sure you need to get the rest of the company settled, but when you’re done can you find me? I’ll wait for you in your chambers?”

Crowley hesitated. That sounded very like Aziraphale trying to get him alone. And trying to seduce him. But Aziraphale was looking at him, all wide innocent eyes, and Crowley caved. “Yeah, alright.”

Aziraphale perked up and favored him with a smile that made Crowley’s heart thud in his ears. For a terrifying moment, Crowley thought he might give in to the urge to kiss him. But he managed to keep himself together and step away before he did any such thing, bellowing, “Margary!”

The girl rushed to his side. “Can you work with Simon and get this lot settled?” Crowley asked, unable to tear his gaze from Aziraphale’s as he made a vague gesture in the direction of Walter’s men.

Margary nodded brusquely and said, “Of course. The usual rooms for the guests?”

“Whatever works. I have to talk with the Lady Aziraphale. I’ll be back in a tick.”

Margary bustled away and greeted Simon with a professional smile. The man looked taken aback but tried to hide it. Probably shocked at being greeted by a woman. Well, he was going to get used to it.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Aziraphale said even as he fell into step beside Crowley. “I’m happy to wait.”

Crowley looked at him askance as he strode down the hall. “And you were supposed to find my chambers exactly how?”

Aziraphale huffed and had to hurry to keep up with him. Crowley’s keep was small, so it was only a matter of minutes before he pushed open the wooden door to his rooms and snapped his fingers to open the curtains to the windows and light a few candles. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” Crowley said carelessly—even as he felt his pulse pick up at the prospect of being alone with Aziraphale. He was like a dog salivating in front of its master. Pathetic. “Back soon.”

Aziraphale surged up and brushed a kiss over his cheek. “It’s so very good to see you, Crowley.”

Crowley swallowed and nodded jerkily, not trusting his voice because Aziraphale was looking at him so lovingly and it felt impossible to ignore that final thread of awful hope. 

He forced himself to leave, the door shutting with a thud behind him as he left the corridor and returned to the courtyard where Margary was engaged in deep discussion with Simon and, for some reason, Aziraphale’s lady’s maid, who seemed none-to-impressed with Simon’s behavior.

“She clearly knows what she’s talking about, _sir_.” The maid said the title like it was a dirty word. Margary looked at her appraisingly and then caught sight of Crowley.

“Can you explain to Walter’s man here that I am, in fact, your steward and he can do business with me?” Margary said, arms crossed over her chest.

Crowley clucked his tongue. “Simon, you’re behind the times. What would Walter say?”

“You don’t have a steward,” Simon said darkly and Crowley laughed.

“Recently promoted,” Crowley said, smirking which didn’t seem to improve Simon’s mood.

Grumbling, Simon led Margary to the wagons and started explaining the goods he had brought, leaving Crowley alone with Aziraphale’s maid.

“So you’re, er, Aziraphale’s friend?” Crowley asked for lack of something better.

The girl glared at him as she said, “Yes. I care about her a great deal. Unlike some people.”

Crowley made an impotent gesture at himself and the girl looked distinctly unimpressed as she lowered her voice and added, “You best apologize to her.”

“Right,” Crowley said, feeling oddly small. “I mean, yes. That’s the plan.”

She tilted her chin and nodded sharply. “Good. Now show me to her rooms. I’d like to get our things settled.”

Crowley turned around and searched for his squire who was lingering on the edge of the courtyard looking very awkward. Someone needed to show that boy how to cut his hair so it wasn’t quite so crooked over his too big ears. 

“Tim,” he called out, waving him to his side.

Tim ambled over and Crowley told him to help Aziraphale’s maid to the guest chambers. “Nicest ones we have, Tim.”

“Yes, sir,” Tim mumbled following the maid to a cart to retrieve her things.

Crowley hesitated. People were taking care of all the business he had to attend to. Could he find something else to do?

_Stop being a coward_.

Growling at himself, he stomped out of the courtyard and back to his chambers. _Business_, Aziraphale had said. Whatever the bloody fuck that meant.

He pushed open the door to his chamber and found Aziraphale at his desk, reading over his ledger, an adorable frown on his face. One of his braids had come slightly undone, some of his curls spilling out. That hair had been so soft in Crowley’s hands. He may never touch it again.

“Oh!” Aziraphale said, looking from the pages, his expression brightening upon seeing Crowley. “That was quick.”

Crowley shrugged. “Didn’t have much to do.”

Aziraphale stood and Crowley took a step back instinctively. It made Aziraphale’s face fall. Rubbing his hands over the skirt of his dress—gorgeous and blue and making his skin look like the finest cream—Aziraphale looked nervous as he said, “I came because I wanted to speak with you. About a few things. But I feel I should start at the beginning.”

Crowley tried to keep his face immobile and not let any of his anxiety creep in. This was fine. They were friends. Friends talked about…things.

“I believe…” Aziraphale paused and took a deep breath, eyes fluttering about the room before fixing on Crowley’s, stormy and worth drowning in. “I believe we have been speaking at cross purposes for quite some time. And I’ve been angry and not been clear and I’m very sorry for that. You must know.”

“What’re you on about, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, trying to sound nonchalant but ending up half-choked. This felt serious. Terrifyingly serious.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering to the side before pinning Crowley where he stood. “I’ve been certain, for quite some time, that you are in love with me—”

A laugh burst out of Crowley’s chest, painful and manic, the noise forcing Aziraphale to look at him with concern. 

“Angel, I know you’re a bit self absorbed but _in love with you_?” The words were coming out of Crowley but he didn’t feel like he was speaking them. He felt curled in the corner of his mind as the world closed in around him. Aziraphale knew. Fuck.

Aziraphale’s jaw clenched and then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I have something to say. Now will you let me say it or must you continue you to be this obstinate?”

Crowley held up his hands in surrender, heart still hammering in his chest as every muscle in his body cried out for him to flee, to cut his losses, to disappear for a century and forget about this all. This was awful. Worst case scenario.

“You’re in love with me,” Aziraphale repeated forcefully, eyes sharp when Crowley moved to interrupt. “And it seems pertinent for you to know that I’m in love with you.”

The little dark space in Crowley’s mind where he had curled in on himself suddenly shrank into nothing. He was certain he couldn’t breathe. The floor was crumbling beneath him and he had to reach out and clutch at the edge of his desk. The sharp edge dug into his palm but did nothing to ground him. 

“What?” he gasped out. None of this could be real. He thought his chest might cave in. A black hole. A collapsing star.

But then Aziraphale was at his side, one hand hot on his arm, the other pressed over the back of the hand Crowley was using to support himself against the desk. Crowley started to shake. It was embarrassing and awful but the tremor started in his chest and spread into his limbs until he was unsteady on his feet. 

“I can’t—Aziraphale, you don’t—” He choked on each word, unable to even start a sentence between his heaving breaths. There were tears on his face, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t feel them. He was too focused on trying to stay upright and when he managed to look at Aziraphale’s face, he saw the angel was misty-eyed. 

“You really didn’t know,” Aziraphale said, sounding awestruck. And then he sniffled like he might cry. “Of course I love you.”

Crowley’s ears were ringing. His hands were shaking. His heart was crawling out of him and falling into Aziraphale’s hands.

_I love you_.

Crowley wasn’t—he didn’t quite— 

“Aziraphale—” he choked, wide-eyed, nerves numb yet somehow burning out like the wick of a candle. 

“I _love_ you,” Aziraphale repeated forcefully. His voice was as unsteady as Crowley felt and that was enough to break him.

Lost to everything else, Crowley grasped Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kissed him brutally. Their teeth knocked uncomfortably, but it was perfect because Aziraphale _loved_ him. He slid one hand into Aziraphale’s mussed curls and held him in place as he slowed the kiss, touching their tongues together and sending sparks to the tips of fingers. His whole body was unsteady except where he was touching Aziraphale.

He’d kissed Aziraphale at a bloody tourney. Risked his dignity for it. And for weeks he’d thought he’d ruined everything, set himself up for heartbreak, but this? Aziraphale warm in his arms, kissing him back and half-sobbing into his mouth? _Loving_ him?

Every bloody minute had been worth it.

Crowley pulled back, and Aziraphale tried to chase his mouth. Tipping their foreheads together, he held Aziraphale in place with his hands and let out a wet laugh. Fuck, he was crying.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, hands tugging on his hips like he wanted to get closer. They were already pressed together so tightly that it was impossible. “Can we—can you—”

Crowley kissed him again because Aziraphale looked as teary-eyed as Crowley felt and he hated that. Aziraphale should always be smiling, laughing, happy. The angel moaned around his tongue and it only stoked the fire in Crowley’s belly. How had he resisted this for weeks? Aziraphale was so perfect, heavy and soft in his arms. Crowley couldn’t take it. Turning them both, he pushed Aziraphale up onto the edge of the desk so they were the same height and he could kiss him harder. He felt as if his whole world was shaking apart with Aziraphale at its center, a guiding light.

Crowley’s hands fell to his hips and kneaded the glorious roll of fat that pressed into the velvet of his dress. It felt so perfect in his hands. He skated his palms over Aziraphale’s belly and cupped a hand over one of his breasts, rubbing his thumb over his clothed nipple, only to be rewarded by a whimper. Breaking the kiss, Crowley mouthed his way down Aziraphale’s neck, his exposed collarbones. He wanted to suck a bruise at the juncture of his neck and shoulder but didn’t want to mar Aziraphale’s perfect skin. A difficult enterprise when Aziraphale threaded his hands in his hair to hold him in place as Crowley licked over his pulse. 

“Oh yes, just like that,” he gasped and Crowley’s cock throbbed with interest.

Tugging on Aziraphale’s skirt, he pulled away briefly to ruck it up as high as he could so he could slip his hand beneath the embroidered fabric to find the hot juncture of Aziraphale’s legs. He groaned when his fingers slipped against the delicate flesh.

“Fuck,” he breathed, tipping his head to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Aziraphale squirmed as Crowley ran his fingers over his folds, playing with the coarse hair that brushed over the pads of his fingers. 

“Crowley, that—that tickles,” Aziraphale complained, but he sounded breathless so Crowley didn’t stop. He didn’t stop until he was caressing the swollen nub that marked Aziraphale’s arousal. He slipped his fingers lower and gathered some of the slick he found there, delicately running his finger over Aziraphale’s opening before returning his attention to that sensitive bundle of nerves.

Aziraphale clutched at his back, legs twitching against his hips as his breath puffed hot over Crowley’s ear. He buried his face in Aziraphale’s collarbone, tugging his gown off his shoulder so he could get at more skin.

There was the telltale sound of rending cloth that had Aziraphale tensing under him.

“Crowley, did you just rip my dress?” Aziraphale asked. He sounded perturbed but swiftly went boneless when Crowley kissed his neck and move his hand just right.

The desire to be closer returned, a physical pull that had Crowley rocking into the cradle of Aziraphale’s thighs, the friction of his hand against his own arousal barely giving him any relief.

“I want you inside me,” Aziraphale said between moans and Crowley felt the floor give out again. “I want to feel you.”

Crowley yanked his hand out from Aziraphale’s skirts and had to bite back an apology. He’d gone and done it again. Letting Aziraphale drag him into this when Crowley wanted it—he wanted to take care of Aziraphale. Not...not fuck him on a desk.

Aziraphale stared at him in shock and then jumped to the floor, hurriedly rearranging his skirts. “You don’t have to look at me like that,” he said, sounding distressed. “I’m sorry if it’s—I shouldn’t have pressed.”

Horrified by Aziraphale's response, Crowley grabbed his hand and then pulled him close once more. “Stop. No, it’s just -”

Aziraphale looked up at him with searching eyes and for once Crowley thought he saw the love in them. The same love he felt every day reflected back in eyes like the purest sea glass.

He brushed Aziraphale’s mussed hair from his face and tried uselessly to control the beating of his heart. He felt foolish. Drunk on the moment and Aziraphale.

"Come to bed with me," he choked out and the love in Aziraphale’s eyes bloomed into something blinding. He was being kissed again, Aziraphale’s tongue hot in mouth as the angel pushed him back toward the door to his sleeping chamber. His hand was on Crowley’s belt, tugging, knuckles brushing the hardness that was evident even under his shirt and tunic.

He groaned into Aziraphale’s mouth as he fumbled to find the latch to the door. His fingers felt numb, all the blood in his body thrumming too fast for him to fathom, an ocean during a storm. 

His clumsy fingers finally clutched the metal latch and then they were halfway through the door, stumbling against the wood because Aziraphale couldn’t keep his hands off of him, unbalancing him every time he tried to take a step but Crowley didn’t care. They could take an eternity to get to the bed. He had Aziraphale in his arms, loving him.

“Lady Aziraphale?” A voice cried through the door and Crowley jerked back in surprise, head slamming into the wood of the door and making him grunt in pain.

“Lady Aziraphale? Are you in there? Margary said you had business with Sir Crowley?”

That was Aziraphale’s maid, wasn’t it? Fuck, she had the worst timing.

Crowley looked down at Aziraphale and nearly burst out laughing at the expression on his face, nose all screwed up in consternation as he glared daggers at the door. 

“If she comes in now, your expression might kill the poor girl,” Crowley said and then those daggers were directed at him.

“This is _ridiculous_,” Aziraphale hissed. Crowley couldn’t help but agree.

But they had time now. They had time.

Crowley kissed Aziraphale again and had to forcibly tear himself away when Aziraphale whimpered and went pliant under him. 

“Later. Tonight. I promise. Just you and me.” Crowley kissed each of Aziraphale’s cheeks and then passed a hand over the torn seam of his gown to mend it. “Go see to your maid.”

“Alice,” Aziraphale corrected, glancing at the door and scowling, albeit looking less murderous than before. A knock sounded again.

“I suppose you’re right,” Aziraphale said with a sigh. “My hair’s probably completely hopeless.”

He reached up and began to tug on the unkempt strands but before Crowley could think he’d snapped his fingers, undoing the remaining braids so that it flowed seamlessly down his shoulders. “I like the way you look with your hair down.”

Crowley resisted the urge to groan. He was pathetic. Saying sentimental shite like that.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed and he looked ready to tackle Crowley to the ground and have his way with him. That look went a long way in dispersing Crowley’s misgivings.

But a final knock sounded and Aziraphale shook himself. He squeezed Crowley’s hand and said, “Later.”

And then he paused and bit his lip. “There’s something else I need to speak to you about. But it’ll have to wait.”

Before Crowley could ask for any details, the angel tossed his hair over his shoulders and call out, “I’m coming, Alice!”

Aziraphale threw open the door and walked out into the hallway. “What is it, dear girl? My apologies, I…”

His voice drifted off behind the shut door and Crowley sagged against the wall.

Later.


	6. In His Chambers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this chapter...ahem...delivers ;)
> 
> beta'ed by [@poetic-nonsense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetic_nonsense/pseuds/poetic_nonsense)
> 
> blue_sparkle did lovely art inspired by this story a few weeks ago which in turn inspired a great deal of this chapter. You can see it [here](https://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/post/189781597078/its-about-the-yearning-some-softness-inspired-by)

Crowley ended up at the kitchens. He had no idea _how_ he ended up at the kitchens, only that he was there and Margary was staring at him.

"Milord?" she asked, raising her thin eyebrows high above her blue eyes. She looked vaguely amused. Which was alright. She could be amused. Crowley was feeling pretty bloody amusing, like he was full of bubbles or something equally ridiculous and worth laughing at. He’d be laughing if he didn’t feel quite so punched in the head because _Aziraphale loved him_.

"Yeah," Crowley said, snapping to attention. "Yeah, yup. That's me. the lord."

Margary made a noise like she was trying not to laugh and then cleared her throat.

"What are you doing down here? Supper will be ready soon. Did you need something?"

"Aziraphale is here," Crowley said, realizing he sounded like a lunatic. Margary could hardly know what it meant that Aziraphale was here, inside Crowley’s keep, probably getting his hair done in his chambers as he changed, humming to himself, smiling, being so sodding bright and beautiful.

Margary's placid expression took on a sly bent. "Oh yes, Lady Aziraphale. I spoke with Alice. You two are very close, yes?"

"Old friends," Crowley replied, trying to regain his footing in the conversation. He’d just had his hand up Aziraphale’s skirt and the angel had been whispering endearments into his mouth so he thought it might be fair for him to be a bit distracted.

"So I've heard. What does Lady Aziraphale have to do with the kitchen?"

"She likes pears," Crowley blurted out. And then felt himself turn red. He was pathetic. A few loving words and Aziraphale had him wrapped around his little finger. "I wanted to make sure she had pears," he finished lamely.

Margary patted his arm in understanding. "I'll check and make sure some get served to her with dinner. Any particular preparation?"

"Fresh," Crowley said, picturing the sumptuous curve of Aziraphale’s mouth as he savored his first bite of fruit. "She likes fresh fruit."

Margary nodded, all business. "I'll see it done."

Crowley stared at her and she shooed him off, chiding him in a no-nonsense tone, "Your hair’s a mess. And change into your embroidered tunic before supper."

Crowley arched a brow at her.

"Change into your embroidered tunic, _milord_," she added, arching a brow back.

Crowley liked her.

* * *

Aziraphales nerves were entirely aflutter.

Crowley loved him, promised that they could be together later. The ghostly sensation of Crowley’s lips on his neck was still sending shivers through him. They'd have all night together to trade kisses, to enjoy each other, to discover all sorts of new sensations. To love each other in a soft warm bed.

Aziraphale’s heart soared and he smiled as he pulled his hair into a loose braid. It was something precious, to feel so loved.

Alice appeared before supper, looking mighty pleased. “A little bird told me that Sir Crowley has been in a _very good_ mood all afternoon. Does that have anything to do with the _business_ you had with him, milady?”

Aziraphale blushed as Alice began to plait his hair in a more ornate style. “We have come to an understanding, yes.”

Alice made a squealing noise above him. “So you’re getting married? I know you said Sir Walter wanted you to but—”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said hesitantly. How much could he say? “I haven’t exactly spoken to Crowley about that yet. I was hoping to this evening. You, er, interrupted us before we discussed it.”

“Oh. I _interrupted _you,” Alice said slyly as her fingers began to work in Aziraphale’s hair more quickly. “Do you think—do you think he’ll say yes?”

Aziraphale’s heart jumped into his throat. As much as he had planned, how had he not considered that Crowley might say no? He felt his chest go tight at the possibility. “I don’t—oh, dear I’m not sure.”

Alice’s hands paused in his hair and she pulled away, stepping in front of him with a shocked expression. “What?”

“I don’t think Crowley’s ever thought about getting married,” Aziraphale said. And honestly he’d never thought about it either. Not until Gabriel said he should and all the thoughts of being married to Crowley started up. Marriage was quite the human invention. They went on about God blessing unions and the like, but it was all entirely unnecessary in the eyes of the Almighty.

“That’s not possible. Everyone thinks of getting married,” Alice said, all wide eyes. Aziraphale admired her romanticism. How nice was it to be young and so full of hope?

“Not Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, but then he thought of the way Crowley looked at him, like Aziraphale was a dream come true. He thought about how Crowley had been so careful, saying he wanted to wait so they could have time for each other. Perhaps Crowley wouldn’t be so averse to the idea of them being together. Always.

“Well, you’ll change his mind, I’m sure.”

Aziraphale certainly hoped so.

* * *

Crowley was staring at him. Not that Aziraphale minded overmuch—but every time he tried to meet his eyes, Crowley looked away abruptly.

Sir Walter’s steward kept him in conversation throughout supper so Aziraphale’s designs to slowly broach the subject of matrimony were foiled. Instead he ended up speaking with a nice young man named Tim who seemed a bit starry eyed.

“Master Crowley’s brilliant,” he said when Aziraphale asked after the boy’s training. “Puts up with me. I don’t know much about all this knight business and father sent me here to get trained up.”

“Well, I’m certain you’ll do wonderfully,” Aziraphale said firmly. Tim gave him a wavering smile that Aziraphale found oddly endearing.

Suddenly, sliced pears were placed in front of him and Aziraphale blinked down at it in surprise. A dirty faced serving boy gave him a bow and said, “From Master Crowley.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, staring at the plate in awe. He pressed a hand to his chest, momentarily overwhelmed.

He looked over at Crowley who managed not to look away this time, even though his face was steadily turning red. Well, Aziraphale couldn’t exactly thank him at this distance but he could...Aziraphale picked up a slice of pear and slid it between his teeth, biting down slowly and keeping his eyes on Crowley. The sweet juices burst over his tongue as the skin split and the soft flesh dissolved against his soft palate.

Crowley turned impossibly redder.

Then Aziraphale licked the juice from his fingers and Crowley made a noise that sounded somewhat like “hrgkkk” which he could hear even from where he was sat several feet away. So Aziraphale ate another slice before giving Crowley a placid smile.

How delightful.

Aziraphale spent the rest of supper thinking about all the ways he could fluster Crowley in the coming days. He was set to be at Crowley’s keep through the end of the week. That was plenty of time to come up with all sorts of things.

But to start with...

Aziraphale waited in the corridor after supper, watching for Crowley. When he finally exited the hall, Aziraphale grabbed his hand and tugged him into the nearest dark corner.

“Aziraphale, what—”

Aziraphale kissed him once, perhaps a bit too forcefully, but he was just feeling _so much_ that he couldn’t contain it for another second.

When he fell back on his heels, Crowley was looking at him, eyes dark and eyebrows high on his forehead. “What was that for?”

“The pears,” Aziraphale said and he kissed him again, hands coming to rest on his chest. How did kissing Crowley feel so good? It made his whole body light up.

Crowley’s hands came up to wrap around his wrists, thumb idly stroking his knuckles even as he pulled away. “Fuck, Aziraphale, you can’t—you can’t just ambush me like that.”

“Oh, tosh, you like it,” Aziraphale said, feeling very wicked as he pressed a kiss against the underside of Crowley’s jaw. He made that noise again, like a squeaky door.

“Hrgk.”

“Besides, how can I stop when you have such lovely reactions?” Aziraphale said before licking his way down Crowley’s throat.

“Not that I,”—Crowley sounded delightfully breathless—“Not that I don’t appreciate the enthusiasm but, er,”—Aziraphale nibbled on his ear—“I, ngk, still have business.”

Aziraphale sat back on his heels and pouted.

“You can’t look at me like that,” Crowley said hoarsely, still holding his hands like he didn’t want Aziraphale to pull away.

Then they were kissing again and Aziraphale wasn’t complaining because Crowley was making these little noises like he couldn’t control himself. Crowley pulled away again, tipping their foreheads together as he tried to catch his breath.

“Look, I have to go. But the minute I’m done I’ll come to your chamber and we’ll—yeah. You know.”

“Have sex?” Aziraphale asked blithely and Crowley spluttered some more.

“Yes, er, that,” Crowley managed.

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his cheek, heart practically glowing when Crowley leaned into him. “Til then, darling.”

With that, he trotted off. He had a very fine evening to look forward to.

Once he was in his chambers, Aziraphale found himself growing nervous. He took off his own gown after dismissing Alice and then paced about his bed. He sat down on it. He braided and unbraided his hair.

The anticipation was rising in him as surely as the sun was setting and he had no idea what to do. Humans did this all the time. He _wanted_ to do this. For goodness’ sake, he’d been thinking about for weeks now.

Then it was truly night and Crowley still hadn’t come. Had he changed his mind? Aziraphale’s worries started to take a firmer shape. They’d gone back and forth and argued so much about their relationship. Crowley could very well have changed his mind.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and cast a final look at his bed. _He_ hadn’t changed his mind and if Crowley had then Aziraphale wanted to know. He wasn’t going to wait around a second longer.

* * *

“All I’m saying is that fortifying the keep is a better investment that alleviating taxes,” Simon said vehemently, slurring only a little. He was on his third cup of wine and Crowley had had enough.

They’d chattered about business but the man would not shut up. And Crowley had places to be. Well, one specific place.

It turned out that their little rendezvous in Crowley’s chambers had _not_ been a flight of Crowley’s imagination. Aziraphale loved him, tugged him into alcoves to kiss him, practically fellated pears to give him a show.

...Oh, what a show it had been.

Crowley shifted in his seat just thinking about it. He was a good five minutes from miracling Simon straight to sleep if the man didn’t shut up.

Finally, Simon seemed to take Crowley’s silence for the hint it was, taking his leave with a wavering bow and leaving Crowley in his study. It was after the door shut behind him that his old nerves began to kick in his stomach, trying to convince him this wasn’t real, that if he went to Aziraphale’s chambers he’d find himself unwelcome.

Taking a deep breath, he went into his sleeping chamber at sat down on the edge of his bed. He needed to get himself together. How long had he wanted this?

Too bloody long.

The air in his bedroom shifted behind him and Crowley sat up with a start. Aziraphale was standing beside his bed, just in one of those gauzy chemises and Crowley could see nearly every curve of his body. It made Crowley’s stomach ache and grow hot. His hair was braided and hung over his shoulder, wisps escaping because, like so many other things about Aziraphale, it couldn’t be contained.

"You didn’t come," Aziraphale said softly, a thread of uncertainty in his voice that made Crowley regret every second they’d been apart since that afternoon.

Crowley launched to his feet so he could pull Aziraphale into his arms. This was fine. Being with Aziraphale again reminded him exactly why he didn’t need to be so nervous. He was so warm, inviting, loving. Everything Crowley wanted for so long.

"Things took longer with Simon than I thought. The man wanted to get sloshed and didn’t seem too pleased when I declined another drink. Bloody irritating."

"Oh," Aziraphale said as a careful smile bloomed over his face. "It wasn’t me, then?"

Crowley brushed his knuckles over Aziraphale’s cheek, savoring the way the skin turned slightly pink. "No, angel. I was—I was counting every second until I could get away."

"Oh," Aziraphale breathed and this time it was dreamy as he leaned into Crowley’s touch. "I was worried that I'd messed it all up again."

Crowley tried to come up with a response but had made the fatal mistake of placing his hand on Aziraphale’s waist which was hot and plush under his palm. Perfect for squeezing. The touch made Aziraphale giggle, which was...fuck.

"Did you just _giggle_?" Crowley demanded, a grin overtaking his face.

Aziraphale scowled and pulled away, slapping at his hand. "I did not!"

"You _did_," Crowley said, drawing out the last word between his teeth just to have a little more time to watch Aziraphale turn pink and then red.

"It tickled, if you must know," Aziraphale grumbled and suddenly he was too far away so Crowley tugged his hand and drew him close until he could feel the heat of his body even through the layers of their clothes.

Whatever embarrassment Aziraphale had felt was clearly fading, because he traced a finger over the fine red embroidery on Crowley’s tunic, eyes following the movement and then snapping up to meet his.

"Can I kiss you?" Aziraphale asked, voice shaky and Crowley couldn’t have that so he ducked his head and brought their mouths together. Aziraphale quickly pushed against him, slipping his tongue between his lips in haste. Crowley pulled away and caught the tail end of a scowl.

"Slow, yeah?" Crowley said, feeling like an idiot because he should be taking what he could get and not try to draw this whole thing out. But he was a sentimental fool. Clearly.

Aziraphales eyes went wide and then he nodded, still looking confused. "Slow. Of course."

Crowley exhaled a shaky sigh. "Right. Just...let me…"

He trailed off as he kissed Aziraphale again, this time softly curling his hand beneath Aziraphale’s jaw to hold him steady as he kissed his upper lip light as he could manage given the thundering of his heart.

Aziraphale gasped and Crowley tilted his head slightly, scraping his teeth over Aziraphale’s bottom lip and flicking his tongue inside when Aziraphale mouth parted on a gasp.

Aziraphale's hands had somehow found their way into Crowley’s hair as Aziraphale began to kiss him back, tentative in this new pace. As Aziraphale pressed against him, Crowley couldn’t help but think that he still tasted like pears and without the frantic energy from all their other kisses, Crowley could savor it. It was _Aziraphale_ he was kissing. Aziraphale wanted to be kissed. Aziraphale loved him.

Crowley’s heart constricted in his chest and he had to pull away to breathe and clear the stars from his eyes.

"Do you want to stay here?" Crowley asked and Aziraphale looked at him in confusion. "I said I'd come to your chambers. We can go there now. If you’d like."

How could he possibly feel nervous right then? With Aziraphale petting circles into his chest and looking at him like he might be personally responsible for hanging the moon in the sky.

"Anywhere. As long as I'm with you. Anything is perfect."

Crowley heart did not flutter in his chest. Because he was a demon who was not affected by shite like that. Not affected.

And when he sat down heavily on the bed, it wasn’t because his knees were weak.

"Come here," he said, voice rough enough to be embarrassing, but Aziraphale was still looking at him, awestruck, so Crowley tried very hard not to care.

Aziraphale slotted himself between Crowley’s thighs and placed delicate hands on his shoulders. "Like this?"

Quiet and close.

"Perfect," Crowley said as he brought his arms around Aziraphale to press his hands between his shoulder blades, tugging him ever so slightly closer, holding him. "Can you kiss me?"

"My dear, I'd love to," Aziraphale said, leaning forward to kiss him. It was sweetness and joy and Crowley imagined he could feel Aziraphale’s love pouring out from his very being, bathing Crowley in its warm light.

Aziraphale’s hand settled carefully against his neck, a light anchor, more to steady than control, and Crowley relaxed into the kiss, letting Aziraphale take the lead with his tentative movements. It was thrilling to think that Aziraphale could be like this. All that passion from their previous encounters controlled, siphoned into an intense focus that had Crowley thrumming, vibrating out of his skin.

They parted, lips slick and swollen, and Crowley couldn’t look away from Aziraphale. His clear gray eyes were shot through with green and blue, his cheeks gloriously pink.

"Bed?" Crowley managed through the onslaught of desire roaring through him. He wanted Aziraphale naked, on his back, body on display for Crowley to explore. All those glorious swells and eddies. He wanted it all.

Aziraphale nodded silently and crawled into bed next to him. Crowley immediately missed the warmth of his closeness so he drew his legs up and bore Aziraphale back against the pillows to settle between his soft thighs.

"Alright?" he asked, and his voice was shaking.

"More than," Aziraphale replied thickly. There was a heavy pause as they simply looked at each other. Then Aziraphale’s eyelashes fluttered and he looked down, one errant hand circling Crowley’s bicep as he asked, "You've done this before, yes?"

"Yeah," Crowley admitted, unsure about the direction of this conversation. He wasn’t exactly keen to discuss old assignments with Aziraphale. These days the tempt-and-shag wasn’t exactly in fashion. The lust business was pretty Old Testament. "That a problem?"

Aziraphale’s grip grew tight about his arm. "No. Of course not. It's simply that I…well, I haven’t."

Crowley sat back on his haunches and Aziraphale released him. Doubt crept in. "Do you not...want to?"

Aziraphale sat up quickly. "No. That's categorically not what I'm saying. I want to. Very much. Just this going slow...I'm not sure how to start slow."

Crowley shrugged, stomach in knots. He wanted Aziraphale so much that he ached with it. "Do you want me to, I don’t know, lead a bit more? I can. You've just been...I suppose I thought you knew exactly what you were after."

Aziraphales eyes flicked between Crowley’s legs and he blushed. "I'd like to...if I do something wrong you'll tell me."

"Doubt you could do anything wrong," Crowley said and then _he _blushed. "But I'll—yeah, I'll tell you."

Crowley realized belatedly that he still had his boots on, so he leaned over the edge of the bed to unlace them quickly. And if the pause gave him a few moments to collect himself then it was just an added benefit.

Once he turned back to Aziraphale, he felt hot hands on his shoulders, pushing him back against the bed and then he was being kissed, more urgent than before as Aziraphale undid the belt at his waist. It smacked against his hips as Aziraphale tossed the ends to the side. Crowley raised his hand to snap away their clothes but Aziraphale hastily tangled their fingers together before he could.

"We’re taking our time, yes?"

Crowley swallowed, nodded, and let Aziraphale pull his surcoat over his head.

* * *

Crowley was just in his shirt and braies and Aziraphale was trying to keep his hands from shaking. With the way Crowley was looking at him, Aziraphale couldn’t believe it had taken so long to notice his love. It was so clear, shining out of him, cool and breathtaking as freshwater.

Aziraphale fussed with the hem of Crowley’s shirt, hesitating momentarily before lifting it up. This was really happening. Crowley sat up to help him bring it over his head, eyes flickering nervously as he settled back on his elbows, letting Aziraphale look at him.

Aziraphale let out a long breath. "Oh, darling," he said, perhaps a bit too reverently because Crowley began to turn red, the blush staining his lovely chest. There was a smattering of ginger hair down the middle, soft and glorious under his fingers. In all their other stolen moments, Aziraphale had been so caught up that he hadn’t had a chance to really look at Crowley. He traced his fingers over the ridge of his clavicles and down over his chest, feeling his heart pattering against his ribs. Just beside his sternum there was a thin white scar, like a broken crescent moon. Aziraphale paused and ran his thumb over it.

"What is this?" he asked and Crowley peered down at his chest to see what Aziraphale was talking about.

"Ah," Crowley replied. "Blessed knife. Rome, I think. Couple centuries ago."

Aziraphale swallowed and tried not to think what would have happened if that knife had found its mark. Crowley, seeming to sense some distress, lifted his hand from his chest and kissed his palm, making Aziraphale feel a keen fluttering behind his hips.

Aziraphale had to forcefully remind himself that they were taking their time.

When Crowley released his hand, he continued his journey over Crowley’s chest, exploring its divots and edges, the shadowy lines of his ribs. He thumbed the dip of one of his hip bones where it disappeared into his pants. He took in the harsh lines of the thin muscles that Aziraphale had not had the opportunity to rightly appreciate before. Crowley was angles and crooked patterns and he was gorgeous.

By the time he was done, his core was aching but he didn’t want to stop. There was more of Crowley to see. To touch.

He hooked a finger under the waistband of Crowley’s braies and looked up at him, a silent question.

Crowley looked half-shattered, eyes shining and face a patchy red. "Yeah," he gasped and Aziraphale tugged off that final article of clothing.

He’d seen Crowley naked in that cell in Swaffham. Had his cock in his hand that glorious time in Walter’s castle. But this? Crowley laid out and Aziraphale with permission to look and touch?

Aziraphale thought he might discorporate.

Crowley’s prick was already hard for him, red and straining up against the underside of his belly, resting against the golden-red trail of hair that Aziraphale decided he wanted to lick. There was a shining bead of liquid in the slit. Azirarphale brushed it with his thumb. Crowley’s hips jerked and Aziraphale snatched his hand away.

"Sorry, sorry. It's a lot." Crowley said, words slurring a bit as he reached out to pull Aziraphale closer again. Aziraphale happily obliged, moving into the circle of his arms. The touch of his hands on his sides made him shiver.

"We can pause if you’d like. I can—"

Crowley cut off his words with a kiss, pressing and urgent, some of the easy slowness from before falling away as he palmed the flesh at Aziraphale’s hips and made a needy noise low in his throat.

Tired of the fabric still separating them, Aziraphale sat back and pulled his nightdress over his head. Crowley gasped, a desperate noise, as his hands came up to cup Aziraphale’s breasts. He brushed a thumb over Aziraphale’s nipple, teasing it to hardness and Aziraphale felt his muscles growing tense all along his back as he ground against Crowley’s thigh, his own arousal slicking the way as he tried to find relief.

Crowley slipped has hand around Aziraphale’s nape and tugged him back down to kiss him, a messy slide of tongues as their urgency built. They were rocking into each other, the friction simultaneously too much and not enough.

Aziraphale gasped when Crowley’s fingers found their way between his legs and he let Crowley push him onto his back. Crowley ducked his head and sucked one of Aziraphale’s nipples into his mouth with a delicate graze of teeth that made Aziraphale shout.

"You like that?" Crowley asked and Aziraphale imagined that, if he could see his face, he’d be graced with one of Crowley’s most wicked grins. The toothy one that made Aziraphale want to slap him and kiss him in equal parts.

"Obviously," Aziraphale said, trying to sound cross but coming out quite breathless.

Crowley did it again and Aziraphale cried out, hips moving mindlessly as his body sought the pleasure of his touch.

"Touch me, please," Aziraphale said and he didn’t care that he was begging. He felt fit to fall apart at any moment.

Crowley slipped his fingers between Aziraphale’s legs and cursed breathlessly. "You're so wet."

"Yes, well, I believe that's supposed to happen," Aziraphale tried to say but the words came out in a tangled mess.

It seemed sarcasm wasn’t the best tool in bed. Or at least not one Aziraphale was capable of wielding.

Crowley snorted and kissed him again, moving his thumb in delicate circles over Aziraphale’s hardening clit. The pleasure of it all was beginning to lick at Aziraphale like flames, warm and tingling.

His eyes started to drift shut but he didn’t want them to. He wanted to look at Crowley. See the hunger in his eyes, watch his hands move over his body, the way the calloused pads of them scratched over his sensitive skin. He wanted it badly. But he also wanted so much more.

He tugged uselessly at the arm Crowley was using to support his weight. "Kiss me."

Crowley did.

Soft.

_Soft_.

Aziraphale’s muscles locked when, without warning, Crowley pressed a finger inside of him, making him feel showered in sparks. His back arched as Crowley sank his teeth into his lower lip, sharp incisors scraping and heightening his pleasure.

"I love you," he gasped out, trying to wrap his arms around Crowley. _His_ Crowley.

Crowley froze.

Then he shook his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder before he pressed a second finger inside. It nearly sent Aziraphale over the terrible, beautiful edge he felt poised on but then he heard Crowley say, low and reverent, "Fuck, I don't ever think I'm gonna get used to hearing that."

So Aziraphale said it again.

Crowley rose up on his knees and fucked into him with his hand, using the other to rub over his clit, make those sparks come double time as Aziraphale’s belly grew tight and his toes curled.

"C’mon, angel. You're close," Crowley said and Aziraphale could feel him curl his fingers inside him, pressing against something that had him crying out, whole body shaking as the sparks claimed him.

"Shit," he heard Crowley say before he was being kissed again, the scrape of Crowley’s stubble almost too much as Aziraphale felt his body humming, oversensitive with pleasure. "I'm not gonna last, angel."

Aziraphale tried to gather his shattered focus. He wanted to feel every second of this.

Crowley was tracing his folds softly, making his legs twitch. "How do you want this the first time?"

First time. Aziraphale couldn’t stop his smile. He felt so unbearably bright. So full of love.

"Could I—" Aziraphale tried to figure out the words for exactly what he wanted. He wanted Crowley to hold him. "On top of you?"

Crowley made a strangled noise before moving to lean against the wall, sat up against the pillows and gesturing for Aziraphale to come closer. "Do you need a minute or—"

Aziraphale straddled him and Crowley fell silent, eyes full of disbelief as Aziraphale brushed a thumb over his lower lip. "Make love to me, Crowley."

Aziraphale reached under himself to grasp Crowley’s cock, hard and hot in his hand. Crowley guided him with careful hands on his hips as he sank down, pausing when he was fully seated to breathe, to adjust.

He felt Crowley’s fingers digging into his back, his hot breath ghosting over his chest as they held each other.

Aziraphale moved his hips slightly and gasped at the sensation, just like Crowley’s hand except better, _more_. This was what he’d been aching for. He tried moving again and felt Crowley’s hands settled on his hips to help him find a rhythm.

“Angel,” Crowley said and when Aziraphale met his golden eyes, his heart turned over. There was so much love there. So much joy and disbelief. Like Crowley had thought this would never happen.

Aziraphale kissed him carefully and Crowley whimpered into his mouth. Rolling his hips again, Aziraphale swallowed Crowley’s moan of pleasure before beginning to move in earnest, exploring what angle he liked best. And then Crowley’s hand was on his chest, urging him to lean back against his raised knees and _oh_.

Noises fell from Aziraphale’s mouth that he didn’t recognize as Crowley thrust up into him, palming his breasts and stomach and hips like he couldn’t touch enough of him at once. There was a delicious burn in Aziraphale’s thighs as he met Crowley movement for movement. His whole body was tingling. He felt entirely caught up in Crowley, in the cool pleasure of his body, in the little noises he made when they moved together.

They had this now, this new way to show they loved each other.

Crowley’s arms were around him again, his face tucked into Aziraphale’s shoulder as he pulled him tight and gasped. His hips stuttered and shook as he came. Aziraphale paused, letting his arms come up around Crowley so they could breathe together.

And Aziraphale thought that was it. Perhaps they’d hold each other. Trade kisses and soft words until morning and he would ask Crowley about Walter’s proposal once he worked up the nerve.

But Crowley was already shoving him onto his back. The strange sensation of his cock pulling out made Aziraphale gasp. “Crowley, what are you—”

Crowley didn’t let him finish, slithering down his body and pushing one of his thighs back so he could settle between Aziraphale’s legs.

“Look at you,” Crowley said reverently and Aziraphale tried not to squirm when he pushed a finger back inside him. He was just _looking_ at him. It all seemed...oh, it was terribly erotic.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whined, feeling a bit embarrassed and still thinking about those kisses he’d wanted.

But then Crowley was lowering his head, flicking his tongue over Aziraphale’s swollen clit and Aziraphale couldn’t think about anything anymore.

* * *

Crowley’s orgasm had come embarrassingly quickly. Five thousand odd years of wanting could do that to a bloke. Aziraphale had been so hot around him, his heavy weight in his lap so solid and real. He shouldn’t have been surprised that he couldn’t last. But there were other things to do while he recovered and licking his come out of Aziraphale’s cunt seemed a fine place to start.

Aziraphale was already shuddering under his tongue, deliciously sensitive, so he pulled away, laving kisses over his inner thighs as he sank his fingers into the plushness of Aziraphale’s hips, holding him in place. The angel was gasping above him, music to his ears. Every second of it was perfect. Bloody perfect.

Crowley nipped the place where the pale expanse of Aziraphale’s thigh rolled into his hip, licked over the crevice of salt-dampened skin as he began to tease at his entrance with questing fingers. Aziraphale’s hips bucked again and Crowley withdrew. Still too sensitive then.

“I could bloody live here,” Crowley said, scraping his teeth down Aziraphale’s thigh, the downy hair blonde hair on his leg tickling his face as he moved. “Stay between your thighs forever.”

Aziraphale seemed incapable of responding. Little gasps of pleasure were all he was managing.

“All this gorgeous skin,” Crowley murmured as he ran his hands up over Aziraphale’s belly. He palmed one of Aziraphale’s breasts—fuck, they filled his hands so nicely—and bent his head to lick over him again.

“Oh good lord,” Aziraphale shouted when Crowley sucked on his clit, hands flying into his hair, seemingly undecided if they wanted to pull him closer or push him away.

Aziraphale was still dripping, both with Crowley’s release and his own arousal. He felt a surge of possessiveness as he licked over Aziraphale’s entrance. This was his. Aziraphale had let him inside his body, let him make a mess of him. The thought was so arousing it made his scalp tingle and his spent cock ache.

He hummed as he lapped at Aziraphale’s folds, letting Aziraphale tug at his hair uselessly. Crowley retreated, running his hands over Aziraphale’s thighs as he let him come down from sensation before returning to his task, tracing Aziraphale’s entrance with a light touch of his tongue before pushing inside.

Aziraphale’s back arched as he cried out. Crowley had to suppress a smirk. His mouth had better things to do.

With a long open-mouthed lick, Crowley settled on Aziraphale’s clit once more. He pressed a finger inside of him, but Aziraphale was already so loose that another slipped inside easily. He was so hot against Crowley’s hand. It had Crowley’s cock beginning to fill, ready to be inside him once more.

Crowley’s name fell from Aziraphale’s lips, over and over and over as he clearly began to lose himself, his thighs shaking as he tossed his head. Fluttering his tongue just right, Crowley was bowled over by the intensity of Aziraphale’s orgasm, the way he tightened around his fingers, cunt pulsing under his tongue.

Aziraphale’s hips jumped and Crowley held him fast, suckling on his clit as he cried out. “Crowley, I’m—I’m—ah—”

And then Crowley felt that fluttering again, this time lighter and Aziraphale was panting and squirming so he pulled away, wiping the wetness from his chin.

“Oh goodness,” Aziraphale said, eyes closed. He looked resplendent in Crowley’s bed, golden curls haloed behind his head.

Just looking at him, the spread of his body, the beloved tip of his upturned nose, had Crowley hard again. Running a hand up Aziraphale’s belly, Crowley let his palm settle in the valley between his breasts, relishing the dampness of his skin.

Aziraphale’s eyes opened and they were so full of love that it stole the breath from Crowley’s body.

“Angel,” he began with no idea what he would say next. His heart felt too full and he couldn’t find the words.

Aziraphale reached up and brushed the hair from his eyes before smiling at him. It was just a smile and yet it forced Crowley to shut his eyes against the tidal wave of love and desire that washed through him.

He moved carefully between Aziraphale’s legs, brushing his cock over his dripping core once before meeting the angel’s eyes. “Are you ready?”

Aziraphale’s hands sank into the flesh of his arse, urging him forward and he followed. Again, the hot swell of Aziraphale’s body was almost too much. He felt entirely surrounded, loved.

“Oh, Crowley, darling, you feel amazing,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, already beginning to move with him.

Aligning their bodies, Crowley came forward and braced himself on his forearms.

It was long and slow. Crowley pulling back and Aziraphale rising to meet him, each pulse of their bodies drawing a little gasp from the angel’s lips. Crowley felt every single one in the base of his spine. It was a moment he was going to keep with him forever. And if this ended—when this ended—he could look back and say _we were in love_.

Aziraphale pulled him into a kiss that was more a sharing of breath than anything else, their lips brushing every time they moved. Crowley pushed the long strands of Aziraphale’s hair back from his face and looked into eyes, near drowning in the desire he saw reflected there. Fuck, he loved Aziraphale so much.

Their languorous movements began to grow purposeful, hurried as their pleasure crested. Crowley twisted his hips just right and Aziraphale groaned. “Oh yes, like that. Oh.”

So Crowley did it again and again until Aziraphale was coming apart under him and, with two short thrusts, Crowley followed after, his orgasm sharp and almost painful in its intensity.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. It flickered under the candlelight. Aziraphale’s hand came to his chest as the angel scooted closer.

“That was lovely,” Aziraphale said softly. Crowley wrapped his hand around Aziraphale’s where it was beginning to draw patterns in his chest hair, holding tight. For some reason, he felt if he didn’t have something to ground him, he’d shake apart.

Seemingly oblivious, Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Oh, love, I’m so glad we were finally able to do that. It was as good as I imagined. Better probably.”

Crowley hummed noncommittally, still staring at the shadows on the ceiling. A whole part of him was rejoicing—Aziraphale was in his bed, holding him, loving him—another part was telling him this had been a mistake. Aziraphale would sit up soon, get dressed, thank him for the shag and then leave. Of course he would.

But then Aziraphale didn’t. One arm came across his chest as Aziraphale snuggled closer to him. A quick snap had the blankets coming up to their waists.

“It’s so very nice to hold you,” Aziraphale whispered and the terrified part of Crowley that had been refusing to let him relax, receded for a moment. “As much as I wanted you in, well, the more _human_ way, I think I just wanted to have you close.”

Aziraphale was silent for a moment and Crowley let his eyes drift shut as his arm came up around Aziraphale’s shoulders to hold him closer. He’d just begun to feel his breathing even out when Aziraphale asked, “Darling, would you like to get married?”

Crowley’s eyes shot open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh also! ive updated the chapter count. based on vague outlining (the best i can do really) this will be ~13 chapters
> 
> thank you for all your lovely support for this fic! <3 i'm behind on replying to comments but will be replying this weekend!


	7. A Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by poetic_nonsense, high romance adviser extraordinaire

Crowley looked down at Aziraphale, certain he’d misheard, already scrambling back up the pillows because he couldn’t have Aziraphale’s naked body pressed against his for whatever conversation this was about to be.

“_What_?”

Aziraphale’s brows were furrowed, a tiny line forming between them as he moved to sit up, gathering the sheet around his bare chest. “Married,” he repeated like Crowley was questioning what he’d said and not _why_ he’d said it. “I said, would you like to get married?”

The crushing feeling from earlier in the day was back on Crowley’s chest, squeezing down on his ribcage. Aziraphale’s words were echoing in his head as Crowley stared at him, a barrage of images crashing into him. Aziraphale saying all those human words of devotion. Aziraphale with him at every turn. People calling Aziraphale his wife. His husband. His partner.

His heart did something strange in his chest, thumping against his ribs loud enough he thought everyone might be able to hear it. This was impossible. He shouldn’t want this. _Aziraphale_ shouldn’t want this. Crowley realized he must be asleep. They’d made love and he fell asleep. Or perhaps he’d been hit on the head.

“We can’t get married,” is what he managed to say. He sounded hysterical, voice breaking multiple times as the words came out.

“I don’t see why not,” Aziraphale said and Crowley saw the tell-tale signs of a pout forming around his mouth.

“I am a _demon_. We don’t get _married_. H-holy union and all,” Crowley said, trying to sound more relaxed than he felt. Casual, be casual about this. He could be casual even if the sound in his ears was starting to resemble a shriek and he was still thinking about what it would be like to hear Aziraphale declare his love for him_ always_.

Aziraphale snorted and rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that nonsense. We both know it’s absolutely a human invention.”

Crowley scrambled to find a response to that. Noises were coming out of his mouth that were decidedly not words and Aziraphale was starting to look at him like perhaps he'd gone mad. Which maybe he had.

"Yeah, but...I mean, you know...marriage—not exactly...demonic...or—erm, you—yeah..."

"Look,” Aziraphale said, scooting closer and taking Crowley’s hand, a delicate thumb brushing over his knuckles and making Crowley’s insides go funny. Was this what it was going to be like now? Aziraphale able to undo him with the smallest touch? “Walter wants to see me married.”

The shrieking in his ears disappeared as it all slid into place. Of course Aziraphale didn’t _want_ to get married. He was being forced to. Crowley was a back up plan. A convenience. _Oh my dear, won’t you do me this favor._

Crowley bared his teeth, ready to snap, to claw, to cover himself up and withdraw into the shattered shell of himself. Of course this would happen. He let Aziraphale in just so Aziraphale could use him. Wasn’t that just the way of things?

But then Aziraphale kept talking and Crowley's terrified heart stuttered to a halt.

“When he told me, I obviously said no, but then I thought about it and Crowley - I thought about it and all I could think was what it would be like to be married to you. In the human way. Waking up together, making a life together. All those things we’ve done on our own for millennia. I want to do them with you.”

Aziraphale was looking at him, eyes shining in the candlelight, and Crowley’s heart felt about two wrong beats from giving out.

“Shit,” he said, blinking like that might make any of this make sense. It wasn't an excuse or a convenience. Aziraphale just wanted to marry him. For the sake of it. Because they _could_.

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “I know it’s sudden and honestly I’d never even considered it until Walter mentioned it but...wouldn’t it be lovely? It would be us against the world. The way it’s always been but now—but now it would be official. We could be”—Aziraphale’s voice broke which in turn nearly broke Crowley—“partners. In every sense of the word.”

“Aziraphale…” Crowley said, shaking his head. There was no room in his head for words, joy and disbelief pushing them all away.

Aziraphale’s face fell. “Of course I understand. I simply thought that perhaps...since we - we love each other…”

Aziraphale’s disappointment and hurt snapped Crowley back to reality. Shit, he needed to explain himself.

“Hey,” Crowley said, moving as close to Aziraphale as he could. “Didn’t say no.”

The lines disappeared from Aziraphale’s face as his mouth fell open in a wordless ‘o.’

“Might be a headache. Churches and all,” Crowley said. His words were tumbling out, because he felt a bit like _he_ was tumbling. Headfirst down a hill or over a cliff with no idea where he'd land. “But we’d figure it out, yeah? Me and you. If that’s what you want?”

“Oh, Crowley. It’s what I want,” Aziraphale said, sheet dropping away as he surged forward to kiss him, pushing him onto his back and climbing on top of him without warning. Not that Crowley was going to complain.

Heart beating an impossible tattoo against his ribs, Crowley fell into the kiss. This was something that could just _happen_ now. Aziraphale would just kiss him whenever he wanted. And Crowley could kiss back. Because they loved each other.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. He was going to cry again.

“Crowley, are you alright?” Aziraphale said, pulling away when he noticed Crowley’s short breaths.

“Yeah, ‘course. Fine. That’s me. Always fine,” Crowley said, trying to kiss him again.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and kissed him briefly. “You don’t seem fine.”

Crowley pushed him onto his back, kissing him to shut him up. Maybe if he kissed Aziraphale enough, he’d get distracted and drop the topic. Seemed likely, if the last few weeks were anything to go by.

“Mmph,” Aziraphale said into his mouth. “Crowley!”

His protests faded when Crowley kissed down his chest, scraping his teeth over the side of one of his breasts and licking over his steadily hardening nipple. He ran his thumb over the other as he sucked Aziraphale’s nipple into his mouth, pleased when Aziraphale’s hands went into his hair. Finally releasing the sensitive nub, Crowley nuzzled Aziraphale’s stomach, biting and kissing his way down.

Aziraphale squirmed uselessly under the spread of Crowley’s hands on his hips.

“Really, Crowley, I’ve already had _four orgasms_,” Aziraphale said, but it hardly sounded like a protest.

Crowley kissed the inside of his thigh. “Counting, are we?”

“As if you weren’t,” Aziraphale said with a huff. “You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”

“Nah,” Crowley said, ghosting his breath over Aziraphale’s glistening folds. “Insufferable? Wouldn’t dare.”

Then he buried his face in Aziraphale’s cunt because that was miles better than talking. Best use of his tongue he could think of actually.

* * *

When Crowley finally flopped down beside him, looking more serpentine than usual with his tempting smirk and fully yellow eyes, Aziraphale felt boneless and nearly raw with pleasure.

Not liking how far away he was, Aziraphale gathered Crowley in his arms and pulled him close, humming happily when Crowley pillowed his head on his chest, letting Aziraphale press a kiss to his hair. This was so lovely. And when they were married it could be like this _every night_.

Aziraphale was set to be on this assignment for at least another year, and they could be together properly for as long as he was assigned to the area. Of course, once he was reassigned it wouldn’t be quite so idyllic, but Aziraphale was hardly going to give up because of distance. They would figure it out when the time came.

“Do you want me to…” Aziraphale offered, skating his hand down Crowley’s chest and towards his half-hard cock.

“Nah, my treat, that one,” Crowley said before nuzzling Aziraphale’s collarbone. And wasn’t that a delight. Crowley _nuzzled_.

Heart ridiculously full, Aziraphale tipped Crowley’s chin up to kiss him. “I love you. I’m terribly sorry that I didn’t say it the minute I knew.”

Crowley pulled away slightly, looking thoughtful. “You keep saying things like that.”

“Saying things like what?” Aziraphale asked.

“Like you had no idea that you—that you—” Crowley couldn’t seem to manage the actual words so Aziraphale took pity.

“Loved you?” Aziraphale asked and Crowley nodded before scooting to his side of the bed and curling up on the pillow, just looking at Aziraphale. It was a heady thing to see so much trust on Crowley’s face after the tumult of the last two months. It made Aziraphale proud.

“Well, I didn’t know,” Aziraphale began and Crowley frowned, opening his mouth to speak but Aziraphale wasn’t done explaining so he didn’t let him. “We’ve known each other for a very long time, yes?”

Crowley nodded carefully.

“You’ve always been there. From the start. And I think I spent a great deal of time convincing myself that I shouldn’t feel anything for you. Be it because I’m an angel and you’re a demon -”

“But we are those things,” Crowley said quietly, some anxiety returning to his face.

Aziraphale smiled, a bit sad because they’d spent so long in each other’s orbits but had never come to this place before. So much time pretending. Well, he’d been pretending, but he was beginning to think Crowley had been very far ahead of him. “I know, darling. What I’m saying is that you kissed me at the tourney and there was no going back. I simply knew. I loved you. Easy as breathing.”

Crowley’s eyes closed and he took several shaking breaths before opening them again. They were shining bright as gold and Aziraphale’s stomach fluttered as he gathered Crowley’s hands in his own.

“You also cut quite the figure in the tourney, if you must know,” Aziraphale said slyly, and that got Crowley to laugh, some of the trouble falling from his face.

“Well, you do like your chivalrous stories. Always have,” Crowley said. “I can just picture you at court. All starry-eyed, fantasizing while the minstrels sing._ Oh, if only a handsome knight would come rescue me_,” he said in a terrible imitation of Aziraphale’s voice. Far too high pitched, for one thing. And in a Scottish accent as if Aziraphale sounded _anything_ like that.

Aziraphale slapped at his chest. “Very rude. I do not _fantasize_,” he chided.

Crowley snorted.

“I’m not the one traipsing around calling himself the Red Serpent,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Oi,” Crowley said, offended. “I’m not calling myself that. People call me that.”

“Right,” Aziraphale said, drawing the word out dubiously. Crowley narrowed his eyes. “And coming to the tourney just to kiss the lady fair? Coincidence?”

Crowley sighed and rolled onto his back, hands coming to rest on his bare belly where his stomach dipped below his ribs. “Walter sent one of his lads here to tell me about the tourney. Inviting me and dropping not-so-subtle hints about the prize. Said if I was never going to work up the nerve on my own that I might as well give it to go. Might be stupid but...I thought it was the only opportunity I’d ever get.”

“Walter knew how you felt?” Aziraphale asked, breathless at Crowley’s admission.

“Walter assumed. When I came to discuss trade, found you there, he needled me endlessly. He hasn’t stopped actually.”

Aziraphale studied the line of Crowley’s profile, his strong brow and slightly hooked nose. It was a privilege to be this close and simply bask in it, heart filling up with joy and gratitude. He reached out and traced the line of Crowley’s jaw, drawing his attention as he rolled his head to look at him.

“You’re so lovely,” Aziraphale said. “Even before I admitted to myself how I felt, I always thought so.”

Crowley sucked in a breath and rolled over, hand coming to rest on Aziraphale’s hip. “You already got me into bed, you don’t need to flatter.”

Teasing. Deflecting.

“Oh no, I’m not letting you wriggle out of this,” Aziraphale warned playfully. “I have a whole list of compliments for you. Lovely. Handsome. Kind. Clever.”

Crowley screwed up his face in distaste. “I don’t like this.”

Aziraphale poked his nose and he wrinkled it in response, eyes flashing with an affection that sent a thrill through Aziraphale. “Perhaps this would be more to your taste: wicked, devious, downright demonic.”

Crowley laughed and _that_ did a wonderful thing to Aziraphale’s stomach. When they were married, he’d be able to hear Crowley laugh all the time. He could make him laugh whenever he pleased.

“I love making you laugh,” Aziraphale said, pillowing his face on his hand and unable to keep a smile from his face.

Crowley rolled onto his stomach and shoved his face into the pillow with a high pitched noise. “Aziraphaaaaale,” he groaned.

“What?” Aziraphale asked, pushing at Crowley’s shoulder to get him to roll back over. “It’s true.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Crowley grumbled even as he let Aziraphale push him onto back. “_You’re _embarrassing,” he added as an afterthought.

That made Aziraphale laugh. He leaned down and kissed Crowley’s shoulder once before sitting up in search of his shift. He fancied a bit of rest and wasn’t exactly keen on sleeping in the nude.

“What are you doing?” Crowley asked, still laying back on the bed.

“I’d like to be wearing something. I’m feeling rather exposed at the moment.”

Crowley’s hand curled around his thigh and then slid up to his hip, tugging him back until he lay against the pillow.

“I like you exposed,” Crowley said, voice low before he kissed Aziraphale hungrily. “Besides, I’ll just take it off you again.”

Aziraphale giggled—no, laughed, he did _not_ giggle—when Crowley nipped his earlobe. “Crowley, shouldn’t we get some rest?”

“We can rest tomorrow. I said all night and I meant all night. Just needed to recover a bit.”

And sure enough, Aziraphale felt the pressing heat of Crowley’s hard cock against his hip. He wrapped his hand around it and gave it an experimental stroke as Crowley licked over his collarbone, a low moan escaping his lips.

Then there was a crack that startled them both. They ripped apart, Aziraphale flinging himself so far away that he fell off the bed in his haste.

But when they both turned towards the sound—Aziraphale with a pained groan—there was only a curl of smoke rising from a table near the window. Aziraphale peered at Crowley over the edge of the bed and found him looking stricken.

“Shit,” he said, hand coming up to scrub at his eyes.

“What is it?’ Aziraphale asked, scrambling to stand and snagging his shift from where it had fallen onto the floor. He pulled it over his head and approached the smoking table, but Crowley was already there, knocking away his hands and scooping up a smoking black letter with a glistening red seal.

“Is that—”

“From Hell?” Crowley finished. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale put a hand to his mouth as dread settled cold in his belly. “What is it?”

Crowley flicked open the seal and unfolded the letter, eyes scanning over the words before he growled and threw it onto the table in frustration. Aziraphale picked it up, the fiery brimstone smell tickling at his nostrils as the hellish paper irritated the pads of his fingers.

_Demon Crowley -_

_Due to your performance in your latest review, you are sentenced to 6 months demonic labor in the city of Cadiz where you are expected to_

  * _Send daily reports of souls affected_
  * _Increase sin percentages by 50%_
  * _Suffer for your failures_

_Please send reports directly to Beelzebub c/o Dagon. Any complaints can be stuffed up your bony arse._

_Beelzebub_

“That’s not that bad,” Aziraphale observed even though he couldn’t stop the disappointment from rising in him.

“Not that bad?” Crowley asked, whirling back to him. “Cadiz? _Cadiz_?”

“Spain is nice?” Aziraphale offered.

“It’s not bloody Spain. It’s that it’s not _here_. We just—you just…”

Crowley was sucking in sharp breaths, eyes wild as his chest expanded and contracted rapidly as a bellows. Aziraphale hurried to his side and ran a hand down Crowley’s bare back, feeling the knobs of his spine under his fingers, his cool skin. “It’s only six months.”

Crowley collapsed on the edge of the bed and put his head into his hands. Curling up next to him, Aziraphale did his best to ignore the cold disappointment that was swirling through him. Six months? Crowley would be gone for six whole months.

“It’s alright, my dear,” Aziraphale said, tipping his head onto Crowley’s shoulder in an attempt to show support.

"I just _got_ you, I can’t...I can’t _leave_,” Crowley said into his hands and Aziraphale’s heart clenched in sympathy. He wished...Well, it didn’t exactly matter what he wished.

"Just because you're a continent away doesn’t mean I'll love you any less,” Aziraphale said quietly. Each word was difficult but he needed to be strong. Part of him wanted to beg Crowley not to leave. Not yet. But that was impossible. They had their duties, after all. They always would. “You have my heart, Crowley. You’ve had it for a very long time. Distance won’t change that."

Crowley groaned dramatically and Aziraphale gave him a playful nudge. "We can write. I'd love to write to you."

Turning suspicious eyes on him, Crowley said, “You’re just looking for an excuse to get soppy.”

“Well, perhaps I like the idea of writing out my feelings for you,” Aziraphale said, turning up his nose at Crowley’s tone. He liked what he liked and Crowley could stuff it.

“Well, just don’t expect lovelorn letters back. Not my style,” Crowley said. He stood and snapped himself into his clothes with a heavy sigh. Aziraphale mourned the loss of all that lovely skin. He supposed he’d see it again someday.

Someday.

Crowley snapped his fingers and two letters appeared in his hands. He held out one to Aziraphale. “Give this to Margary to let her know I’ll be away.”

Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley looked away and fidgeted before stuffing the other letter into Aziraphale’s hands. “And this is for Walter. Asking for, er, your hand in marriage.”

Heart full to bursting, Aziraphale pressed the letter to his chest and tried not to laugh out of pure joy.

“So you will? Really?” he asked, desperate for confirmation. His stomach was in the most delightful knots, anxiety and anticipation all mingled together.

“Yeah,” Crowley said, eyes were so full of tentative hope that Aziraphale was surrounded by it, certain he could feel it too. “Yeah, I will.”

Aziraphale threw his arms around Crowley and held him tight. “I’ll miss you something awful,” he said into Crowley’s shoulder.

“Thought you said you’d write to me,” Crowley huffed into his hair, tone teasing.

Aziraphale pulled back and poked him in the chest. “It’s not the same and you know it.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, neither knowing what to say, and then Crowley’s mouth dipped into a frown. “I suppose that means I should go. Can’t keep Beelzbub waiting. Hell only knows what they’d do if bungled this too.”

Aziraphale nodded, throat growing tight. It was fine. It was only six months. They’d been apart far longer before.

“Aziraphale, I—” Crowley broke off and cleared his throat. Before Aziraphale could say anything, he found himself pulled into a life-altering kiss.

Crowley wrapped his arm around his waist to steady him as he kissed him with a desperate care that had Aziraphale’s head spinning. Fisting his hands in Crowley’s hair, Aziraphale lost himself entirely to the kiss, the stroke of Crowley’s tongue against his, the heat suffusing his entire body. They’d just made love. How could he want him so much?

Crowley groaned and pulled away. “If we go much further, I’ll never leave.”

Aziraphale whined, wanting to ask him to stay—just a little longer—but knowing he shouldn’t.

He kissed him a final time, fiercely and with as much passion as he knew how.

“Write to me. The minute you get there. Write to me.”

Crowley nodded, dumbstruck, and then disappeared.

Aziraphale stood in the middle of Crowley’s chambers, breathing hard as he stared at the letters in his hands.

He supposed he was set to be engaged.

* * *

Margary took the letter and rolled her eyes when Aziraphale explained.

“He’s always been like this. Dashing off whenever.”

“Well, it’s good he has you then,” Aziraphale said kindly. “Someone to keep things running in his absence.”

“Oh, I know. The whole place fell apart sometimes. You’d be surprised at how useless people can be when no one is watching over their shoulder,” Margary said, popping open the seal and scanning the letter. A smile played over her mouth before she folded it back up.

“He really must be smitten,” Margary said, shaking her head.

Aziraphale blushed, not sure what to say.

“He wanted me to send you with extra pears,” she said with a wry smile. “Would you like me to?”

Aziraphale’s blush deepened. “I suppose, if—if Crowley’s offering.”

Margary laughed and patted his arm. “I’ll see what I can do.”


	8. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am physically incapable of waiting to share this chapter with the world. it's my favorite in the whole fic and it wouldn't exist if i hadn't had an amazing brainstorm session with my beta poetic_nonsense and asked for all the best romance novel tropes, to which they said:  
love letters

* * *

Arrived in Cadiz. Will send note when settled.

-C

* * *

Renting room in boarding house. Cramped. You’d hate it. Messages can be miracled to this address.

-C

* * *

Dear Crowley,

Thank you for keeping me abreast of your travels. I’m so sorry for the delay in my response. I had not yet returned to Walter’s when you sent these messages and I wish I had been here to receive them. It means more than you can know that you penned these with your own hand. That even on another continent, you think of me.

I gave Walter your letter. He sends his congratulations and his vehement approval. He also told me that he’s proud of you which I’m sure you will find a great indignity. However, I wish to tell you that I am also proud of you. It is with joy that I write this letter because it is confirmation of words we have both said to each other:

In six months, you will return to me. And in six months, we will marry.

I miss you terribly. I cannot wait until we are together again. I think about you every day and wish to have you near me, to hold you once more, and to kiss you. You said that I would send you lovelorn letters and perhaps you were right. I cannot help but laugh at myself because I never imagined writing these things. To anyone, let alone you. I am unbearably glad to have been granted the opportunity.

If there is anything I can do to make your stay in Cadiz more comfortable, I will happily do it. In the interim, I am sending you all the love I possess.

Love,

Aziraphale

* * *

Thanks for your letter. Working often. Beelzebub keeps giving me shit assignments. Might take longer than six months. Will send note when I know more.

-C

* * *

Dear Crowley,

I know we do not often speak of our work but I would so love to hear more. You do not need to keep your missives short. Even if they are full of trivialities, I will read them. What is the weather like in Cadiz? Is it a good year for wine? Have you been eating? I know you don’t prefer it but try something new for me. A treat of sorts. Just between us. And if it’s not the fear of the mundane that keeps you from writing, but rather worries, then I’d like to hear those too. I am a more than willing ear. I want to know everything about you, my darling. I want you to whisper your troubles to me so I may hold them for you, kiss them from your mouth and bring you the joy you deserve. Even if you are away from me, I feel you here because I carry you in my heart always. If this assignment takes you months, years, I will still be waiting. You are my one, my only, my darling. I cannot say it enough. These words on paper mean nothing compared to the truth of them. When we are together again, I will trace every feeling into the beautiful parchment of your skin until you can feel them as sure as I do.

Love,

Aziraphale

* * *

Aziraphale -

Weather’s rainy. I had some good wine a week or so back. Blackberry notes. Stole it so you probably don’t like that. No good food to speak of. I’m basically living in a rat’s nest between all these assignments. Barely time for any sleep.

Thinking of you,

C

* * *

Dear Crowley,

I hate to think you’re not getting your rest. I know how fond you are of it. I find myself also growing accustomed to taking my leisure in the evenings when the rest of the world is asleep. The days since your departure have been long and I have not rested as easy as I once would have.

To think that in five months, you will be here and we can share each other’s bed. We will be able to sleep curled together. I haven’t slept in a bed with anyone but you. And that was only once. Do you remember that awful boarding house in Jihlava during the silver rush? There was only one room left and you seemed so terribly uncomfortable.

I wonder now if you loved me then. If I loved you. Thinking on it now gives me no clarity as my heart aches at the possibilities, the missed chances.

Do you ever ponder on how lucky we are to have come here? It feels as if there are infinite possibilities in this universe God created. The smallest event can change the direction of a life in its entirety. I wonder what event brought us to this? Perhaps I shouldn’t think on it. It hurts to imagine a version of existence where we are not so dear to each other. One where we are still enemies. Or worse. Where we never even met.

And how I ramble.

I miss you darling. I thought about your laugh today. Walter was arguing with Simon (I know you’re less than fond of the man) and got in the most fantastic jibe. You would have loved it. I pictured you there with me, laughing. The way you toss your head back, hand on your chest as if you can’t contain your mirth. The thought was so vivid that I almost believed you were with me. It made me miss you even more.

Sending love,

Aziraphale

* * *

Dear Crowley,

I sent a note yesterday but I could not keep the news to myself! Lady Emony is with child! She and Walter are over the moon. I’m glad to be here to help her through the difficult winter months. It cannot be easy to be expecting during such dreary times.

Love,

Aziraphale

* * *

Aziraphale,

Tell her congratulations from me. I imagine Walter cried or something equally soppy. Did he? You can tell me. I’ll only make fun of him a little.

-C

* * *

Dear Crowley,

I am not going to tell you because you will never let it go and I am fond of Walter. I will tell you that I cried. Will you tease me? I believe I can take it if you’re willing to put in the right effort.

Love,

Aziraphale

* * *

Angel, was that an innuendo? You can’t post me an innuendo. Not when I’m a bloody ship ride away from doing anything about it.

-C

* * *

Dear Crowley,

Perhaps. I suppose you’ll never know. What you will know, because I will tell you, is that I spent the greater part of yesterday evening imagining you were with me in my bed. I think of the night we had together so very often. The touch of your hands was almost more than I could bear. I always knew you had clever fingers. You’ve always been like that, learning through touch, through _doing_. I’m afraid I’m quite academic in comparison. It’s been ideas that have stimulated me the most. And Crowley, it’s been the idea of you with me that keeps me warm.

I think of that time in the field. I had just bested you at swords and my blood was positively thrumming. Your body felt so delicious beneath mine. I remember the look on your face, like fire and I wanted you to consume me. You knew exactly what I needed. Or some part of you did. I thought I liked the way you felt beneath me but it hardly compared to how you felt between my legs. It was the first time I’d felt anything like it and I was so pleased it was you giving me that joy, that pleasure. I tried it myself last night just to find some relief.

Though I found myself wishing it was you.

Love,

Aziraphale

* * *

**ANGEL DON’T YOU DARE**

* * *

Dear Crowley,

I found your last missive confusing. Don’t I dare what? You’ll have to be more specific in your next letter, my darling. Tell me what I dare not do.

Are you saying I should not linger in the memories of our time together? I can hardly promise that. Every second is etched in my memory and for the rest of our very long lives, I will keep it there, pristine and precious for me to gaze upon whenever I wish. And I do so wish.

I wish to be astride you. Take you inside me. See the look on your face when I bring you pleasure. You were so beautiful, Crowley. If I had any talent for words, I would do my best to capture how I feel at this very moment, reliving that beloved memory.

Do you remember that night in Dahkla? There was a meteor shower. The Perseids. I didn’t mean to run into you, but we found that little place just on the outskirts of the oasis. The meteors streaked through the sky, falling stars. I think I remember the look on your face then. I wish I did. I wish I'd catalogued every moment of our time together since Eden, but I have been a fool who didn’t know a treasure when they had one.

That night in the oasis, beneath the meteors falling, you said you’d never seen anything so breathtaking in the cosmos. And that you would know because you made some of it. Perhaps you were being facetious, but, Crowley, I think the way you felt watching those meteors is how I felt the first time we made love.

Would you be ashamed to know I teared up a bit writing that? I had to take a break and miracle away the tear stains from the page.

I think my heart misses you more than it knows how.

Love,

Aziraphale

* * *

Aziraphale,

I remember the meteors. We were in Bahariya actually, on the edge of the white desert. We ate tiger nuts and honey. Those meteors were the most beautiful thing I'd seen until then.

I've seen more beautiful things since.

\- C

* * *

Dear Crowley,

You old flatterer. I blushed something awful when I read that. I was quite in shock. I half expected to get broken sentences and crumpled paper from you for the next three months.

Regardless, every one of your letters bring me joy. Be it five words or five hundred, I await them all eagerly.

Love, Aziraphale

* * *

Aziraphale

I do try to write. Spend most of my free time reading your letters actually. Probably more than I should.

\- C

* * *

Dear Crowley,

My darling, do you re-read my letters? I cannot think of higher praise. I meant every word I've written. I think you know that. I hope you do.

I was up late last night with one of the cows. She was giving birth to twins and was in a great deal of pain. I did my best to ease things for her but it was a grueling experience. Have you ever had occasion to be that close to an animal birth? I know I dealt with some on the Ark.

Love,

Aziraphale

* * *

Angel,

Are we really going to discuss the finer points of cattle reproduction?

If you must know, I played at shepherd for ten years in the Himalayas. So yes, I’ve seen animals give birth. Nasty stuff.

I’ll be unavailable for the next few weeks. On assignment in the countryside. You can still send letters. Rest assured I will read them when I return.

-C

* * *

Dear Crowley,

Knowing you won’t read these letters until you return is an awful temptation. I could say anything in quick succession and simply imagine your face when you read them all. Should I attempt further discussions of my fantasies? Perhaps it would be unfair to rile you up with no opportunity for relief. Though I am fond of the idea.

Would you put your hand on yourself for me? Bring yourself pleasure with this letter in your hand, knowing I kissed it before I sent it to you? Would it were your lips I could kiss, your cheeks. I find myself falling into sentimentality when I picture your return.

Will you look different? Has your hair grown? Have you once more taken to your shaded lenses? Has the Spanish sun kissed your skin with freckles? I’ll chart every one.

My imaginings wander, Crowley. They wend from long nights in bed to warm embraces, the smoky smell of your skin. I long to simply speak with you, to hear your stories in your own voice, quiet and just for me. I want to hear your misadventures, tease you until we’re both laughing.

That has always been my favorite thing about you. The way you make me laugh.

That’s enough for today. It seems I have several days to fill and if I go on like this, I fear my heart will not take it.

Love,

Aziraphale

* * *

Dear Crowley,

I have no meaningful updates for you on my life. Emony is doing well at her letters. Her pregnancy is healthy. I’ve taken up embroidery and I hate it.

Instead of those boring topics, I’ve decided to spend this letter recounting my favorite memory of you. I wonder if you remember it as well as I.

I ran into you in Rome. It wasn’t very long after the death of Christ. Things in my work had been dreadfully dull, but across the taberna I heard your voice. I laugh at myself now because I should have known how I felt. I recognized your voice over the bustling of dozens of humans, recognized it because it was dear to me, though I did not know it yet.

You are perhaps wondering why this is my favorite memory as is it quite mundane but I’ll get to that.

You see, you were in an awful mood. I didn’t know you then the way I do now, the way I came to over the last millennia, but I knew you well enough to place that snappy tone, that sarcasm. You never told me what happened that day. Perhaps you will sometime soon.

What I remember starkly is that you cut your hair. At the time I was jarred by it. I had not seen you looking quite so different in all of our run-ins. It was something I came to look forward to. The way you were always changing. I don’t personally favor it. Change, that is. But I love seeing it on you.

We went to dinner and shared drinks. You were sullen and I didn’t like it. So I teased you and told you silly half-truths until your smile returned. It is my favorite memory because it was the first time I noticed how lovely your smile was. Perhaps it was the first time I felt more than friendship for you.

I do not know, but I think it’s a nice thing to believe.

Love,

Aziraphale

* * *

Dear Crowley,

It’s been three weeks since I heard from you. I’m hoping you are well. Please write to me upon your return. I do worry about you.

The weather is beginning to turn and I’ve had my hands full preventing illness among the townspeople. I’m happy to be here. It’s one of those assignments where I really feel that I’m making a difference.

The only way it could be better is if you were here.

I must go now and will not be able to write again for another week. I anticipate being quite busy. I wish I could write every day but duty calls.

Love,

Aziraphale

* * *

Angel,

I’m back in Cadiz. This is exhausting. Remind me to never fail a performance review again.

I do remember Rome. What an awful day. You made it better. I’ll tell you about it when I see you next. If you ask.

-C

* * *

Dear Crowley,

I’ll hold you to that. I’m sorry for this short letter. As I’m sure you know by now, its length does not reflect my depth of feeling.

Emony has started making preparations for our wedding. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it may not happen for quite some time. She’s commissioned me the loveliest dress. She and Walter are so very kind.

I miss you.

Love,

Aziraphale

* * *

Angel -

You asked me to marry you and I will. Be it this year or the next. Or in a century. I’m marrying you. Too good an opportunity to pass up in my opinion.

At this rate, I should be wrapping up here within two months. Just a month behind schedule. Think you can wait?

-C

* * *

Dear Crowley,

I received your letter and spent the greater part of the day nearly walking into walls. Alice is beside herself. I believe she may be more invested in our relationship than even we are. Which I did not think was entirely possible. I am beyond overjoyed to know you will be returning soon. Should I expect you at Walter’s before the year is out?

A winter wedding. You’ll look so handsome in the cold. It always did bring such lovely color to your face. And if it’s cold, it’s all the more incentive to stay inside and keep each other warm. No one will question us if we don’t leave our marriage chamber for weeks.

Soon. To have your hands in mine. To see your beautiful eyes in the sun, in the night. What will you look like spread out beneath me in the moonlight? I want to see it. I want to see every facet of you in every light.

Perhaps I’ve gotten away from myself in all these letters. I hope you don’t mind me going on so much. All those months ago, you teased me about being lovelorn and I think perhaps I am.

Love,

Aziraphale

* * *

Aziraphale,

Alright, angel. I’m going to write this down once and only once and I swear to <strike>G</strike> somebody that if I ever see this letter again I will destroy it so you either burn it or hide it somewhere where I can never find it.

Mind your letters? Your letters are driving me mad. I hang on your words because I’m yours, Aziraphale. I have been and will be. And if I’ve made you think otherwise, I’m sorry. <strike>I’m bad with words. Can’t change that.</strike>

You talk about memories and if it’s possible that I remember too. Angel, I remember everything. I couldn’t forget if I wanted to. Once upon a time, on a very bad day, I tried. Couldn’t manage it because you’re in me, in the very heart of me. Indelible.

I think about our time together more than I want to admit. I want my hands on you, I want you in my arms again. Once wasn’t enough. I could love you a thousand times and it would never be enough. I want to kiss you until we both can’t breathe and the sun sets and sets and sets and someone has to come and tear us apart because sod the world it’s just you and me, Aziraphale. You and me for always.

I swear sometimes when I’m out in the city at night and the moon is full and there’s so much starlight and I swear, <strike>fuck</strike> I swear that I can feel you. You’re those stars. You’re the sun. You’re always here, a light in my chest.

And that’s stupid and soppy but it’s how I feel<strike> and you</strike> You deserve to know. If I were better I would tell you every second of every day how much I love you.

<strike>I miss you</strike>

<strike>I’m sure you know that I fuckfuckFUCK</strike>

I miss you. Sending this before I lose my nerve.

Love,

Crowley

* * *

Crowley,

I am NOT burning that letter. And if you ever burn it, I am certain I will discorporate you.

Hurry home to me.

Love,

Aziraphale

* * *

Walter’s in a fortnight. Wrapping things up. Won’t be able to write.

Soon, angel.

\- C


	9. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by poetic_nonsense and LoudAlligator

Aziraphale reread Crowley’s letter nearly every day. Every time he read it, he had to stop himself from miracling himself to Cadiz to kiss the stupid, ridiculous, beloved demon. He was on assignment here with Walter and he needed to focus. No matter how much he told himself that, Crowley’s absence was like a physical ache. A hunger inside him that nothing could satisfy.

Now that the entire castle knew they were engaged, no one questioned Aziraphale’s lovestruck demeanor. Even Emony and Walter often shared their sympathy with him. Oh, wasn’t it sad Crowley was away? They hoped he would come back soon so they could finally be married.

Aziraphale agreed wholeheartedly.

But in the interim, winter was setting in and Aziraphale was needed to bless the storehouses and the peasants’ meager savings. This town was not to go hungry under his watch. The cattle would be safe and healthy and the grain would see them through the winter.

With so much joy inside him, Aziraphale found the miracles flowed easily from his hands. Soon Crowley would return to him. The mere thought was enough to make him smile.

During the weeks after Crowley’s final letter, Aziraphale found himself taking long baths, finding his fingers slipping between his legs. He always thought of Crowley, the taste of his skin, the weight of him covering Aziraphale. It wasn’t enough to sate him. He needed more. He needed Crowley.

Two weeks felt longer than all of his five millennia on earth.

Perhaps anticipation would make their reunion all the sweeter, but it was difficult to remember that given the way his heart ached.

Two weeks came and went and Aziraphale began to worry. It was just after sunset on the eighteenth day after Crowley’s letter when Alice barreled into his room, eyes alight with excitement.

“Sir Crowley is here,” she cried, clapping her hands.

Aziraphale launched to his feet, heart going wild as his stomach tied itself into knots. He rushed out the door after Alice, nearly tripping over his skirts as he made his way down the stairs and to the courtyard.

The sun had set and the whole place was bathed in soft blue, the remaining rays of sunshine staining the sky orange. It was beautiful. But none of it mattered because Crowley was standing in the middle of the courtyard, conversing with Lord Walter. He was smiling and Aziraphale thought his heart might stop at the sight. It had been nearly eight months since he had seen that smile.

Aziraphale froze in the walkway, afraid his legs might give out under the sheer weight of his own joy. Then Crowley glanced away from Walter, eyes alighting on Aziraphale. His whole face transformed, nonchalant grin slipping away into something genuine and devastating.

Aziraphale loved him terribly.

* * *

Crowley’s heart was racing in his chest and he was doing his best to focus on Lord Walter’s greeting, laughing at his teasing about finally working up the nerve to ask Aziraphale to marry him. Part of him wanted to end the conversation and rush up the stairs to Aziraphale’s chamber, but the other part clutched at his heart, old anxieties sinking in their fingers. Surely Aziraphale had forgotten his promises. He didn’t mean what he said in his letters.

He heard a sharp inhalation to his right and his head immediately jerked to search out the source of the sound. His heart stopped. It was Aziraphale, pink cheeked, breaths white puffs in the winter air. And as he took in the awed look on Aziraphale’s face, his worries slipped away.

Before he could even move, he found himself with an armful of warm angel as Aziraphale enveloped him in a tight hug.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped into his surcoat, sounding like he might be crying.

Crowley barely had the wherewithal to look at Walter over the top of Aziraphale’s head, but saw him smile fondly before mouthing _I’ll leave you to it_ and walking away.

Aziraphale clutched at his back and Crowley tucked his nose into his hair, inhaling the sunshine smell of him. It was awful and terrifying to feel so relieved just at the sight of him, to have someone be able to make him feel at home the way Aziraphale did.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said again, this time a question.

“Yeah, angel?” Crowley said, letting his eyes drift shut as he rested his cheek on top of Aziraphale’s head.

“Could you stop time for a moment?” Aziraphale asked, pulling back slightly.

“What?” Crowley asked, too caught up in Aziraphale’s distress to really understand.

“I’d like to kiss you and I’d rather no one was watching,” Aziraphale explained and there was a hint of the usual huffiness that Crowley adored.

He snapped his fingers and the world froze around him. He didn’t know what he expected, maybe for Aziraphale to wait for Crowley to kiss him, but, whatever it was, he’d certainly not expected Aziraphale to launch himself at him, pressing him back until his knees hit the low stone wall at the edge of the courtyard and nearly unbalancing him in the process.

“Angel!” he squeaked against Aziraphale’s mouth, trying to keep things chaste but steadily losing control as Aziraphale started to make little noises of pleasure and desperation that had Crowley’s cock hard in an instant. All it did was remind him of the last time he’d heard those sounds.

Sinking his hand into Aziraphale’s hair, he returned the kiss, falling into the easy pleasure of it because this was Aziraphale and he’d craved exactly this for months.

He’d craved this every second since their first kiss all those months ago.

Aziraphale’s hands skated down his chest, fixing on his belt. Crowley caught them and pulled away. “Hate to break it to you, angel, but I’m not gonna be able to keep time stopped long enough for that.”

Aziraphale pouted and batted his eyelashes, which was distinctly unfair.

“Stop that,” Crowley said with a scowl, dragging Aziraphale closer to where they had started before snapping his fingers and letting the world continue on around them.

Aziraphale pouted harder which Crowley didn’t think was entirely possible and yet…

He groaned. “Later, alright? I do actually have things I need to do. Toddle off to your chambers.”

A sly smile took over Aziraphale’s face. “Alright darling,” he said brightly. Crowley didn’t like that. That tone meant something bad. Meant Aziraphale was about to -

Aziraphale surged up on his toes to brush a kiss over his cheek before whispering in his ear, “The longer you make me wait, the more I’ll make you beg.”

Aziraphale flounced away, looking perfectly pleased with himself. Bastard.

Crowley’s feet moved without his permission, dragging him after his angel until he could grab his elbow. He’d missed Aziraphale so much and there he was, shining in the gloam, _flirting_ with him and wanting him. Who was he to resist?

“Crowley!” Aziraphale protested with poorly disguised delight as Crowley pulled him into the hall and through the nearest door. It was some sort of storage chamber whose door now conveniently had a bolt and unnatural light illuminating the inside.

Aziraphale made a surprised noise of protest when Crowley hefted him atop a barrel, and he squirmed in the most delightful way. His body was so welcoming under Crowley’s hands, letting his fingers sink into his love handles as Crowley pulled him close.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale huffed, chest already heaving.

“As if you don’t know exactly what I’m doing,” Crowley replied hoarsely. His heart was beating loud in his ears as he ran his hands over Aziraphale’s thighs, pushing them apart.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, going pliant under his touch. “I - yes, I believe I do.”

Crowley fisted his hand in Aziraphale’s hem, pulling it up over his knees so he could touch just a little more of him. Aziraphale gasped. “Are you going to kiss me again?”

Crowley grinned, nosing the soft spot under Aziraphale’s chin and giving his pulse a darting lick as he trailed his fingers in delicate circles through the downy hair on Aziraphale’s thighs. “Would you like me to?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whined, squirming again under his hands, so Crowley took pity on him, pulling back so he could meet Aziraphale’s gaze. He was already glassy-eyed, mouth parted.

Crowley’s heart suddenly felt too big for his chest.

_I think my heart misses you more than it knows how._

He cradled Aziraphale’s cheek in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin, heart skipping when Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut and he pressed into the touch. “I missed you, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled and kissed his wrist, sending off a flutter of _something_ in Crowley’s belly. Would it always be like this, Aziraphale making him feel this way with just a touch?

“I missed you too, my love,” Aziraphale replied and Crowley had had enough teasing. He’d spent eight months thinking about being here again, with Aziraphale in his arms.

It was an opportunity he wasn’t about to waste.

* * *

Crowley was kissing him. It was even better than in the courtyard because now they were alone. He’d forgotten how warm Crowley’s mouth was, how kissing him felt like coming home, the deepest comfort even as it stirred desire hot in his belly. Aziraphale had brought himself off for months thinking about this, but the reality of it, the intimacy, was almost more than he could bear.

Cool hands were on his thighs, fingers sinking into the flesh as Crowley tugged him close until his arse was on the edge of the barrel. Wrapping his arms around Crowley, he deepened the kiss, swiping his tongue inside Crowley’s mouth and moaning as his arousal began to rise inside him.

Crowley pulled away, forcing a whine from Aziraphale’s throat that was swiftly replaced by a gasp when Crowley sank his teeth into the crux of his shoulder and collarbone. He pushed up the fabric of his skirt, exposing Aziraphale’s sex to the cool air before snaking a hand between their bodies and thumbing his clit, his arousal slicking the way.

Aziraphale growled and knocked the hand away. “Later. Right now I want you. Inside me.”

Crowley didn’t have to be asked twice, their hands tangling together as they scrambled at his belt and braies, barely pushing down the fabric. The slow pace of their kisses and tentative touches were entirely tossed aside as Crowley wrapped an arm low around Aziraphale’s waist, aligning his cock and sinking inside.

They both gasped at the sensation and while Crowley seemed to want to pause, to let Aziraphale adjust, he was having none of it, wrapping one leg around Crowley’s hips and urging him to move. It felt so good, the just-right tension inside him building with each snap of Crowley’s hips.

“Kiss me again,” Aziraphale gasped, scrambling to pull Crowley closer.

Crowley obeyed, one hand holding up Aziraphale’s thigh and the other cradling his back as he let Aziraphale capture his mouth. The kiss turned filthy as the sounds of their lovemaking filled the small room. Any passerby would know exactly what was happening inside, but Aziraphale didn’t care.

“Harder, please,” Aziraphale begged, wishing he were in a position to control the speed. He wanted Crowley to fuck him hard enough that he would feel it as he walked back to his chambers. Fuck him hard enough that he’d feel it in the morning.

Crowley’s hips stuttered and slowed. The exact opposite of what Aziraphale wanted. Poised to complain, the words were driven from his mouth when Crowley adjusted his grip, hands coming to grasp his arse, holding him in place so he could slam back into him and then set a pace so brutal Aziraphale’s vision blurred as the acute edge of his pleasure began to sink into him. All Aziraphale could do was hold on and let sensation take him.

“M’not gonna last,” Crowley ground out, the words a growl in his ear.

“S’fine, don’t stop,” Aziraphale said or he was pretty sure that’s what he said. Higher powers of thought had abandoned him at the moment. The feeling inside him was cresting, threatening to break. It felt different than his other orgasms, sharp around the edges as it claimed him. He cried out and was helpless to do anything but sink his teeth into Crowley’s shoulder, the fabric of his tunic muffling the noise.

Aziraphale felt hollowed out as Crowley fucked him through his peak, barely aware when Crowley groaned, spilling inside him.

Aziraphale’s arms were shaking where they were still wrapped around Crowley, and he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to. “That was…”

Crowley hummed in agreement as he pressed light kisses over his jaw. “Can’t wait to have you in a bed again.”

Aziraphale laughed. “I think this had its merits.”

Crowley slipped out of him carefully before kissing the corner of his mouth. “You _would_ think fucking on a barrel was better than a bed.”

“I didn’t say _better_,” Aziraphale said, hopping off the barrel and already feeling a burn between his legs. Oh that would ache deliciously.

Crowley snorted as he put himself back together. His cheeks were gloriously flushed, eyes shining gold in the light he had summoned. “Says the angel who tried to have sex with me in a field...oh, and the woods, and wait, the _courtyard_.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks grew hot. “Yes, well, I…”

Crowley tried to fight a grin and failed miserably, waving his hand dismissively as he said, attempting a flat tone, “It’s alright, angel. I know. I’m very irresistible.”

Aziraphale pinched his hip and was rewarded with a yelp. “I know you’re teasing, but I’m not going to disagree with you. Now go. The sooner you finish your business with Walter, the sooner we can be together.”

“Well,” Crowley said, finally letting that beautiful grin spread over his face, “With incentives like that…”

* * *

Crowley took himself to Walter’s study. They did have business to discuss even if Crowley would rather be curled in bed with Aziraphale for the foreseeable future. A wedding was on the horizon and that required all sorts of discussion apparently. Crowley didn’t entirely understand, but it had something to do with an exchange of goods and perhaps some threats regarding the treatment of the lady. A bit misogynistic really, even if people did mean well.

Walter welcomed him with a cask of his best wine, shoving a cup into Crowley’s hand before he could protest.

“To you and my fair cousin. Finally getting your heads out of your arses long enough to get married,” Walter said, tapping their cups together and then drinking deep.

“You shouldn’t be surprised. You hounded me enough about it,” Crowley said with a challenging arch of his brow.

Much as he enjoyed Walter’s company, he wanted to nail all this down and then slither off to Aziraphale’s chamber where he could spend the rest of the night thoroughly enjoying his welcome.

Walter ushered him into a seat. “So, Aziraphale said you don’t have any particular timeline in mind for the wedding. I know Emony was hoping to have her happily married off before the baby comes.”

“Anything works, Walter. You know that. Just pleased it’s actually happening,” Crowley said, shocking himself with the words. That was a bit...honest for his liking. Aziraphale had clearly done a number on his head. “Didn’t think I’d get this far.”

“I presume she’ll be going with you to your keep as soon as your marriage is, er, completed,” Walter said, a bit of a blush on his pale face. Right. The man didn’t exactly know how consummated things were.

“We haven’t discussed it but I expect so,” Crowley replied. He hoped so. Aziraphale did have his assignment to think of but he’d still be in the area to complete his work even if he wasn’t directly in Walter’s keep. It was less than a day’s ride between the two homes and they could visit often. If needed.

“Well, we’ll post the banns and then you can be married within the week. Aziraphale said you preferred handfasting?” Walter asked looking ridiculously pleased.

“Yeah, er, I liked the symbolism,” Crowley said. Churches were out then. Thank somebody Aziraphale thought ahead.

“Then I’ll perform the ceremony here before we celebrate. How do you fancy that? A week!”

“S’alright,” Crowley said noncommittally even as he felt like his heart might escape out his mouth. A week. What did he have to be nervous about? They had just fucked in a storage room. Obviously Aziraphale -

_You haven’t seen Aziraphale in six months. What if he doesn’t want this anymore? What if it's just a shag?_

Walter shook his head fondly. “Well, consider this a congratulations. Soon you’ll be a married man.”

Married man-shaped being, Crowley thought wryly, but more or less.

* * *

Aziraphale brushed out his own hair, humming quietly to himself. He’d dismissed Alice with a firm _please do not bother me for the rest of the night_ which had earned him a salacious wink for his efforts. That girl, really, what a character.

He still felt wonderfully sore from Crowley's attentions in the storeroom, a bruise forming on his arse where it had pressed against the barrel, his sex aching. He could heal of course but why would he do that when every movement reminded him of Crowley?

A whooshing noise by the hearth drew Aziraphale’s attention. His stomach flipped when he saw Crowley. They'd barely been parted for a few hours and yet it felt like ages.

Aziraphale stood and then paused, a sudden hesitance stealing over him.

“Finally got away from Walter,” Crowley said, standing immobile as they stared at each other. “Apparently, we’re getting married next week.”

Aziraphale’s heart leapt into his throat. Married. It was really happening. “Come here this instant. I need to kiss you,” Aziraphale said and Crowley crossed the room in a flash, gathering him into his arms.

“So you still…” Crowley asked, eyes darting nervously over Aziraphale’s face.

“Of course I do, my dear,” Aziraphale said, still thinking it was terribly unfair that they weren’t kissing yet.

A low rumble started in Crowley’s chest, becoming a growl as he backed Aziraphale against the edge of the bed. Crowley’s hands fisted in his hair, wide palms cradling his head as he slid his tongue into Aziraphale’s mouth. It felt so obscenely good.

Crowley began to lay him down on the bed, but Aziraphale tore his mouth away, grabbing Crowley’s hips. “No,” he said, breathing hard. “You first.”

Slipping onto the ground, he pushed Crowley onto the bed, hands fisting in his tunic to push it up to his waist.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked and when Aziraphale looked up at him, his eyes were wide, nostrils flaring. Aziraphale skimmed his hands over the line of Crowley’s braies where it was tented by his swelling cock.

“I’ve thought about it,” Aziraphale said, slipping his fingers into Crowley’s pants and tugging them down. “Ever since you left, I regretted it.”

“What?” Crowley asked, sounding wrecked as his serpentine eyes tracked Aziraphale’s movements. His cock was beautifully hard, red and straining against his belly. Aziraphale’s mouth watered.

Aziraphale nosed over the bristle of his Crowley’s leg hair. He licked the line of his inner thigh and scraped his teeth over the soft skin. Crowley yelped.

“I didn’t get to taste you,” Aziraphale said before taking Crowley into his hand so he could sink his cock into his mouth. Crowley gasped, a thready broken thing so Aziraphale felt fairly confident he was doing something right.

Hands were in his hair, fisted almost to the point of pain and Aziraphale moaned around the head of Crowley’s cock. He tasted like copper and salt and like _Crowley_ and Aziraphale could already feel himself growing wet.

“Angel, fuck, you don’t have to -” Crowley broke off, head falling back against the bed as Aziraphale sucked him down.

Aziraphale scraped his nails down Crowley’s thighs as he worked his tongue over his prick. He let Crowley’s hands guide him, designating the pace as he bobbed his head. Aziraphale was aching with the desire to take Crowley inside him, but it was the best kind of ache. Like when he craved his favorite dish and knew he’d be able to sample it soon.

Crowley was going to fuck him again.

But Aziraphale was going to do this first.

Aziraphale pulled back, spit dribbling down his chin as he said, “Darling, I want you to come for me.”

Crowley looked down his body. His cheeks were the loveliest color and Aziraphale wished that he had taken the time to remove his clothes because he wanted to see the beautiful expanse of his chest, the planes of his belly.

“Angel, let me make love to you.”

Aziraphale shook his head and flicked out his tongue to tease at the head of his cock. Crowley’s hips jerked.

“Surely there will be time for that later,” Aziraphale said, pleased at Crowley’s response to him. “For now, all I want is to please you.”

That made Crowley sit up abruptly, hands coming to cup Aziraphale’s jaw as he curled forward to kiss him, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the heated skin of his cheeks. “You please me, angel. Anything you do.”

Aziraphale thought he might cry. Goodness gracious. For a demon, Crowley was awfully sweet.

“Well, I want to do this,” Aziraphale said forcefully. Silly, distracting Crowley. “Lay back down.”

Crowley fell back on his elbows, his mussed fringe falling into his face as he watched Aziraphale take him back into his mouth.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Crowley said, biting his lip as his hips bucked up. The sensation of his cock hitting the back of his throat made Aziraphale clench around nothing. He was so helplessly aroused, but he knew Crowley would take care of him. First this and then Crowley could use those beautiful hands to -

A knock sounded at the door and they jumped apart. Aziraphale nearly swore.

“Lady Emony is giving birth! I need you Aziraphale,” Walter said, panicked through the wood of the door and then the door was opening and there was not enough time for Aziraphale to stand up or Crowley to put himself back together.

Walter froze in the doorway and then turned around, slamming the door shut.

“I did not see that,” he announced loudly, voice slightly choked.

“I’ll be right there!” Aziraphale said with a wince. He looked at Crowley apologetically. “Sorry, my dear. I suppose you’ll have to wait.”

Crowley flopped back on the bed with a groan, his cock bobbing as he moved, and covered his face with his hands. Aziraphale looked at him with regret. He wanted so much and yet…

“I’ll be back as soon as the babe is born,” Aziraphale said, wringing his hands, torn between rushing out of the room and kissing Crowley goodbye.

Crowley snorted and tossed a hand over his face. “As if Walter will let me within five feet of you.”

“We’ll see about that,” Aziraphale said firmly. He would figure this out. Crowley was back and he was hardly going to let them sleep in separate chambers and not _touch_ for a week.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and left. He had work to do.

* * *

The babe came easy even if Emony did end up exhausted. That was just the way of these things. It was nearly dawn when it finished and Walter ushered Aziraphale out of the birthing chamber.

He scrubbed at his eyes and then gave Aziraphale a tired but disappointed look. “Aziraphale…I can’t thank you enough for helping but…”

“Don’t say it, Walter, please,” Azirpahale said, already turning red. He hadn’t actually anticipated anyone ever catching him with a cock in his mouth.

Walter sighed. “Just be careful. Once Emony is back on her feet, we’ll have the wedding. Can you _please_ keep to yourself for that long?”

Aziraphale bit his lip and nodded.

After all, what Walter didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Except that when Aziraphale returned to his chambers, he found Crowley sound asleep in his bed, looking terribly peaceful. Suddenly, Aziraphale remembered what he’d said in his letters about not sleeping.

Crowley did so love his sleep.

Instead of disturbing him, Aziraphale took off his dress, slipped under the covers, and watched the play of the dawn over the harsh angles of his face. He had missed him so terribly, and even the soft weight of his body next to him was enough to bring him joy.

“Hello, my love,” Aziraphale whispered, placing his hand carefully on Crowley’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of it, the steady thrum of his heart. “I’ve missed you.”

Aziraphale curled closer and placed his head on Crowley’s shoulder, sighing as the delicate smoky smell of him tickled his nose. Home. It really did feel like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update schedule note: as i have reached the final act of this fic, I realized i need to write it in one go and edit it as a whole for cohesiveness and clarity. because of that, i believe the update schedule for the last 4 chapters will be slower though I'm hoping to have it fully written within the next two weeks


	10. The Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by poetic_nonsense  
this chapter is 75% smut and 25% anxiety
> 
> slight dubcon warning. At the top of the chapter, Crowley touches Aziraphale's body while Aziraphale is asleep. If this squicks you, you can skip to "Aziraphale laughed shakily!"

Crowley woke up to a mouthful of curls. Disoriented for a moment, he blinked at the ceiling and realized those curls were Aziraphale’s and that the warm weight on his chest was the angel’s head, resting on his shoulder and making his arm fall asleep.

Aziraphale made a grumbling, snuffling noise that had Crowley gritting his teeth so he wouldn’t laugh. He’d always thought Aziraphale was adorable, but this was unbearable. 

Aziraphale pulled away, flopping onto his back and emitting a truly magnificent snore. His shift was caught around his legs and coming off of one shoulder and as he wriggled, it slipped down even further to show another delicious inch of his creamy skin. 

Crowley’s cock stirred, and by habit he tried to ignore it. Then he realized he didn’t have to. He had permission to touch. To love. As long as Aziraphale was willing, Crowley wouldn’t waste the opportunity to have him in his arms, gasping his name.

Curious how long it would take Aziraphale to wake up, Crowley placed his hand on the angel’s hip, slowly drawing up the fabric of his shift and exposing his skin to the cool air of the chamber. The feel of his skin under his fingers had Crowley’s heart racing. His shift was nearly to his hip before Aziraphale even stirred and that was just to kick his feet a bit and turn his head to the side. Crowley slipped his hand under the thin material and ghosted his fingers over the skin of Aziraphale’s hip, trailing them over his stomach in light circles, feeling the soft hair beneath his belly button. He earned a tentative hum for his troubles and his own cock twitched. 

Petting his way over Aziraphale’s side, Crowley scooted closer, hooking his ankle over Aziraphale’s to draw his thighs apart. He palmed the roll of Aziraphale’s belly, scraping his nails lightly over his hip, enough to tickle if he were awake. Then he skated his hand down over the apex of Aziraphale’s thighs, ignoring the place he wanted to touch in favor of grasping at his ample flesh. Without looking he could feel the texture of Aziraphale’s stretch marks underneath his soft leg hair, those scars even softer than the rest of his skin, smooth to the touch. Crowley traced the lightning marks with his forefinger as his cock grew even harder where it was pressed against Aziraphale’s hip.

“Angel,” he murmured into Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale hummed in response but didn’t wake up so Crowley dragged his mouth over his collarbone, just enough teeth so Aziraphale should be able to feel it. He continued drawing circles with his fingers into Aziraphale’s thighs, moving ever higher until he could feel the damp heat of him against his knuckles. He could touch there too, but he wanted Aziraphale awake for that. He wanted Aziraphale looking into his eyes when he brought him pleasure.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale mumbled and there it was. Success. Crowley smirked into his skin, tracing marks into his neck with his tongue, raising goosebumps in his wake. 

“Good morning,”Crowley said, pulling back enough to watch Aziraphale’s eyes flutter open. His stomach flipped when Aziraphale caught sight of him and immediately smiled like Crowley was exactly who he wanted to see first thing in the morning. As the sleep cleared from his eyes, Aziraphales smile turned playful.

“Hello, darling. I see you’ve gotten started without me,” he said with a significant glance between his thighs.

“Just warming up,” Crowley said, nuzzling into Aziraphale’s shoulder. He was already growing hot under Aziraphale’s attention, cock aching for his touch.

“Should we really—”

Crowley pulled up the rest of Aziraphale’s chemise and brushed his fingers through the curls between his legs. Aziraphale’s hips jerked.

“Crowley—shouldn’t we wait until—”

“Oh, _you_ want to wait now?” Crowley teased, flicking his tongue over Aziraphale’s ear and earning a gasp. He pressed his hand down against Aziraphale’s cunt, letting him grind against it.

“Walter _asked_ me to—ah!” Aziraphale’s back arched when Crowley carefully circled his finger over his clit.

“What about Walter, angel?” Crowley asked, smirking into Aziraphale’s neck as he steadily moved his hand to the rhythm of Aziraphale’s heaving breaths.

“Oh, sod Walter,” Aziraphale snapped, one hand going around Crowley’s neck to yank him into a filthy kiss.

Crowley groaned into his mouth and redoubled his efforts between Aziraphale’s legs. He’d get his gorgeous angel to come and then he’d slip between those thighs. 

Aziraphale bucked his hips in time with Crowley’s hand, sounds of pleasure drawn into Crowley’s mouth like the finest wine as they traded hot kisses and Aziraphale grew wet under his fingers. It devastated Crowley’s tenuous control to be this close to Aziraphale. Years of keeping his distance, thinking he’d _always_ have to keep his distance because Aziraphale could never feel the same way. Now this. Able to kiss in the dim light of morning as he brought Aziraphale off with his hands. Crowley never wanted it to end.

Aziraphale’s back arched as his release shuddered through him, one hand coming to claw at Crowley’s back as he cried out. Crowley slowed his movements, pressing soft kisses to Aziraphale’s neck as he gasped for breath. “Gorgeous, you know.”

Aziraphale laughed shakily. “That was very good,” he said, already pushing Crowley onto his back and tugging at his shirt.

Crowley curled his spine to sit up and pull it over his head. He was upright for only a split second before Aziraphale slammed him back against the pillows and straddled him, sinking down on his cock without warning and making him groan at his wet heat.

Aziraphale braced himself against Crowley’s chest and began to ride him, subtle rolls of his hips that had Crowley’s toes curling. Crowley wished Aziraphale had taken off his chemise, then he could watch the movements of his body, see the way he took his cock. He reached out to try to pull it off but found his wrists grabbed and pressed down over his head. 

Even with his smaller corporation, Aziraphale was strong. Strong enough that holding Crowley down wasn’t too much of an issue even as he bounced on his prick. Which was absurd. And terribly, terribly arousing.

A noise tore out of Crowley unlike anything he’d ever heard before, a keening sound like Aziraphale was pulling something out of his depths. He tried to match Aziraphale’s movements but his thighs were clamped around Crowley’s hips so all Crowley could do was lay there as Aziraphale found his own pleasure. Crowley loved every second of watching Aziraphale get off on top of him. Hedonistic little angel.

Crowley screwed his eyes shut against the overpowering wave of lust that threatened to overtake him. His orgasm was close and he wanted Aziraphale to come first.

Thank everything under the sun that Aziraphale seemed to know exactly what he wanted, circling his hips over and over until he was gasping and shaking, limbs going loose with pleasure. Crowley took the opportunity to free his hands and grasp Aziraphale’s hips so he could fuck into him and find his own release.

It hit him like a sledgehammer and he fell back against the bed as he trembled through his orgasm. Aziraphale collapsed on his chest, a sure weight. 

“Mmm. I love you,” Aziraphale said, muffled into Crowley’s neck.

It still made Crowley’s heart skip a beat to hear it. He wondered if that would ever stop. It had been a couple millennia of feeling this way so he wasn’t holding out hope. He wanted to gather every single one of Aziraphale’s declarations and hold it in his heart so if he ever changed his mind, Crowley could remember all the moments exactly like this one.

Aziraphale rolled off of him with a happy sigh. “We’re getting married. Us! Married!”

Crowley ignored the twist of nerves at Aziraphale’s words and snapped his fingers to do away with the mess on his prick. He felt worn out. It was barely past dawn so he might be able to steal a bit more sleep.

“The baby came alright then?” he asked, letting his eyes drift shut.

“What? Oh, yes. Walter thinks we should be able to have the ceremony when Emony is back on her feet. She would be awfully cross if she missed it.”

Crowley hummed. Married. What a fucking trip.

“So perhaps later this week? And then we can move to your keep. Just the two of us.”

Crowley cracked open one eye and caught the tail end of a happy wiggle. He flapped his hand out to grasp at Aziraphale’s and ignored the flare of anxiety burning through his gut. “Yeah, angel. Just the two of us.”

* * *

Aziraphale had his hands full taking care of Emony and the baby. If Aziraphale weren’t so caught up, he certainly would have found himself tearing off Crowley’s clothes in every dark corner they could find. Unfortunately, it would have to wait.

After a long day of helping Emony and coaching Walter through several panics about being a father, Aziraphale slumped back to his chambers ready to sleep. How he had gone so many centuries without sleeping he had no idea. He’d certainly gotten used to it over the last few years. 

He pushed open the door to his chambers, planning on getting ready and then popping over to Crowley’s for a night of sleeping and maybe a little something else, when he found Alice weeping on his bed.

“Oh my dear girl, what’s wrong?” Aziraphale asked, rushing to her side. This was no good. Alice was such a sweet girl. She shouldn’t be crying.

Alice rubbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry, my lady. Let me just - I’ll help you get ready for bed.”

“Nonsense,” Aziraphale said, dropping to the bed beside her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Alice let out a broken sob. “It’s silly.”

“No such thing,” Aziraphale reassured her. 

“I’m going to miss you,” Alice said wetly. “This is the best job I’ve had and I don’t want to be here without you.”

Aziraphale’s heart swelled with love for Alice, kind wonderful girl that she was. “I never planned on leaving you here. Not unless you want to stay.”

“I can come with you?” Alice asked, eyes wide and shining.

Aziraphale rubbed a soothing hand over her back. “Of course you’re coming with me. Why would I leave you behind?”

Alice sniffed and rubbed at her eyes. “Do you mean it?”

“Alice, you are both my lady’s maid and one of my best friends. I would never get along withou yout.”

Alice’s face transformed. Though she was still patchy pink from her tears she burst into giddy laughter, a beautiful smile taking over her face. “That would be so wonderful. I would have missed you something terrible. And oh, if I was at Crowley’s keep there would be less to do and me and Margary could—”

Alice broke off on a horrified hiccup, covering her mouth with her hand.

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open as understanding rushed through him. “You and Margary could...oh. Are you…”

Alice stood and brushed off her skirts, rubbing the back of her hand under her eyes. “No. I don’t...of course not.”

“You misunderstand me,” Aziraphale said, standing up quickly. “If you and Margary are involved, I could not be happier. That makes your company even more fortuitous. For both of us.”

Alice looked up at him nervously. “You don’t think I’m a sinner?”

Aziraphale sighed, saddened that anyone could ever feel that way about their love. “Love is never a sin, my dear.”

Alice threw herself at him. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you in my life.”

“I feel quite similarly,” Aziraphale said, rubbing his hands in circles over her back as she embraced him.

“So you and Margary...” Aziraphale asked when she finally pulled away.

She blushed. “Yes. It’s...we realized we had a lot in common when you and I went to visit Sir Crowley.”

“Really?” Aziraphale pressed, delighted at this turn of events. 

They gossiped quietly for quite some time, laid down on Aziraphale’s bed, giggling something fierce until Alice drifted off. 

The air in the room shifted, drawing Aziraphale’s attention to the window where a concerned looking Crowley appeared out of thin air. He shuffled out of bed and pulled Crowley to the far side of the room so as not to disturb Alice.

“I was worried when you didn’t come to my chambers,” Crowley said, pulling Aziraphale into a loose embrace. Aziraphale thought he might miss the way Crowley tipped his cheek on top of his head when Aziraphale was back in his male-shaped corporation. Though they would probably fit together in all sorts of new delightful ways.

“Alice was a bit distressed about our upcoming move. I didn’t want to leave her alone,” Aziraphale explained, sighing into Crowley’s chest. “I should probably stay here tonight.”

Crowley pressed a kiss to his hair and pulled away. “That’s fine, angel. We’ll be together soon, yeah?”

Aziraphale met his eyes, momentarily concerned at the anxiety he saw there, but that was silly. Aziraphale must have been imagining things. Crowley had nothing to be anxious about. “Of course, my dear. Married, remember. We’re getting married.”

Crowley swallowed visibly, gaze flickering away and when he looked back, he didn’t quite meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “Married.”

After he left, Aziraphale crawled back into bed, hoping whatever anxiety Crowley was feeling could be dispersed before they wed.

For never having thought of getting married, Aziraphale was looking forward to it quite a bit. He was going to get to wear a lovely dress and attend a fine feast. And he would get to declare his love for Crowley in front of an entire crowd of humans who would coo over the romance of it all. It _was_ utterly romantic. Just thinking of it made Aziraphale’s heart flutter.

They would get married. They would have a wedding night. And then they would live together until this assignment was over. Aziraphale was looking forward to all of it, but, more than anything, he couldn’t wait for Crowley to see his dress.

* * *

Crowley stopped sleeping. He’d been a magnificent sleeper. Ever since the fall of man, Crowley had enjoyed sleeping. 

But now, at the prospect of a wedding, Crowley was losing sleep. 

Aziraphale had spent all day doing his angelic work and had apologetically told Crowley he would need to stay up with the new baby. Last night it had been Alice and now the baby and Crowley was not doing well controlling his thoughts. They were a constant thrum of _he’s avoiding you_. _He didn’t want this. You’re just convenient._

Just after midnight, shamefaced, Crowley got out of bed and went to his trunk to pull out Aziraphale’s letters. He’d read them so many times in Cadiz that he could probably recite some of the shorter ones. It was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. 

Sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, arse growing cold against the stone, he re-read his favorite letter. 

_I miss you terribly. I cannot wait until we are together again. I think about you every day and wish to have you near me, to hold you once more, and to kiss you. _

He tipped his head back against the wall and swallowed hard, letting the parchment settle in his lap. He needed to get himself together. Aziraphale didn’t say things he didn’t mean. If he had changed his mind, he wouldn’t be shy about it. Crowley had to trust that. He had to.

* * *

Four days and Crowley had only gotten five minutes alone with Aziraphale. He’d kissed Crowley briefly with an apology in his eyes and then ran off to see to the baby. Apparently, Emony was having difficulty with nursing and they were trying to find a maid. Crowley wasn’t sure. Aziraphale had disappeared too quickly. Crowley had felt a unique anxiety watching Aziraphale retreat down the corridor. An anxiety that was squirming and alive just beneath his lungs.

And now, Emony was joining them at dinner. Which meant they were getting married tomorrow.

It also meant that Aziraphale was seated with the lady of the keep and Crowley was with Walter, relegated to _looking_ at the angel. Hell. A unique brand of Hell.

He knew now what Aziraphale looked like in the throes of passion. The sounds he made. The touch of his hands. Crowley wanted him so badly and yet he was just out of reach. 

Aziraphale laughed at something Emony said, drawing Crowley’s attention. The angel leaned close with a smirk and said something quiet Crowley couldn't catch. 

"I thought getting engaged would make you less lovelorn," Walter observed from his right.

Crowley glared at him and then at his venison. 

"You know," Walter said, clearing his throat. "The night before my wedding I was a wreck. I hardly knew Emony and I didn’t want to get married. So I got blind drunk and woke up to the cocks crowing in a field outside this very castle. I think I vomited six times that day."

Crowley grimaced. "Perhaps sobriety is the best course of things."

Walter tipped his cup and then drank deeply. "Only if you're not going to go mad. You're practically shaking in your seat, serpent."

Aziraphape met his eyes and gave him a supportive smile that made Crowley's guts twist. He was so bloody nervous.

"I think I'm going to bed," Crowley squeaked, standing abruptly and rushing from the room.

He needed to sleep. 

* * *

Crowley didn’t sleep.

As an idea, he had been ready for the wedding. In practice, he thought he might shatter like a poorly made jug of wine connecting with cobblestones. What the fuck had he been thinking, agreeing to this?

It was his wedding day. Wedding day. He was going to be sick.

He was getting ready in his chambers, changing into his nicest black tunic with the red serpent embroidered down the front, and his hands felt numb. He kept having to remind himself that Aziraphale wanted this. Just the night before Aziraphale had pulled Crowley into the circle of his arms and whispered how much he loved him, how he was so thankful Crowley wanted him like this. It was almost more than Crowley could take.

A demon. Loved by an angel. Getting married. It seemed like a farce and no matter what Crowley told himself, he couldn’t shake the fear that something would go wrong. Aziraphale would change his mind. He didn’t mean it. He could whisper loving words in Crowley’s ear as much as he wanted but didn’t actually feel it.

Crowley tugged on his boots and pushed away the thoughts. Aziraphale wanted this. Crowley had agreed and he wasn’t going to back down simply because he was nervous.

Why couldn’t he just accept that this was _good_? He tried to cast back to that night Aziraphale had sent him that letter—_I’m sorry if I’ve gone on too much—_and the way he’d been so overcome that he couldn’t help but write back, trusting for a moment that Aziraphale wouldn’t mock him for his feelings. It was embarrassing to feel so much. It was hardly demonic. 

Except he did feel it all. Every word he had written. 

He took a deep breath. One final embarrassing thing. He knew Aziraphale would love it but that didn’t exactly help with the nerves. 

Grabbing the bag with his gift for Aziraphale, he left his chambers. He could do this. Romantic and stupid or no. Aziraphale would like it.

He would and it was worth making a fool of himself if it made Aziraphale happy.

He came to a stop in front of Aziraphale’s door. “No need to be nervous,” he mumbled to himself. “S’just Aziraphale.”

Ah fuck.

He forced himself to knock on the door before pushing it open at Aziraphale’s call to come in. He’d already been working up his nerve to be strong through this little endeavor, but it went out the window when he caught sight of his angel in his wedding finery.

Aziraphale was wearing a gorgeous cream satin dress, gold detail on each hem making him glow at the edges. His long blond hair was twisted into fine braids, pinned back in ornate shapes with black ribbons running through it.

Which was strange. Aziraphale very rarely wore black.

But then Aziraphale took a step forward and his skirt moved, smooth as water, revealing black insets with corded red serpents embroidered in the folds.

Crowley’s clutched at his chest and forced away the desire to tackle Aziraphale back against the bed. Sod the wedding. He had a very important appointment with Aziraphale that involved multiple orgasms and absolutely no clothes.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, freezing in his movement, eyes nervous.

“You look…” Crowley choked out. _You look like you’re mine._

Aziraphale fluffed out his skirt and then there was another flash of red. “Do you like it? It was Emony’s suggestion. I believe I’m rather fond of it. You see, it reminds me of someone I love very much.”

* * *

Crowley’s eyes were impossibly wide as he stared at Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s heart raced, absurdly pleased to see the effect this had on Crowley. Emony had said it would be terribly romantic and Aziraphale now knew how much Crowley liked such things. Even if he would never admit to it.

“Did you need something, dear?” Aziraphale asked, taking pity on the poor demon. They had a little under an hour before the wedding and it wasn’t as if they could get up to anything. Though if he went by the look in Crowley’s eyes, the demon would prefer to not leave this chamber for the next several hours.

Crowley cleared his throat and started to turn pink as he plucked open the satchel at his waist, rooting through it. Then he held out his hand, unfurling his fingers to reveal two rings. Aziraphale put a hand to his mouth. Was this—

“I had them made. In Spain,” Crowley explained as Aziraphale plucked one of the thin gold bands from his palm. “I thought...I dunno.”

Aziraphale swallowed around the lump in his throat, slipping on the band. “What did you think?” Aziraphale breathed.

“That...well, we won’t always be together. Work sort of prevents it.”

Aziraphale nodded, still staring at his hand. He was going to cry. 

“Well, I thought you might like—that it might be nice if we had something to remember.”

Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes and saw the wariness there. Poor, nervous, beloved demon.

“_Even if you are away from me, I will feel you here because I carry you in my heart always. _That. Like you said. But you know. Something tangible-like.”

Aziraphale’s heart was in his throat. Crowley just—

Throwing his arms around Crowley’s neck, he kissed him fiercely. When he finally pulled away, Crowley was pink in the face, hair a mess. Chagrined, Aziraphale combed it back into place with his fingers. “You simply cannot quote my letters back to me thirty minutes before our wedding. There is hardly time for me to properly appreciate that.”

“Fuck. _Our_ wedding. This is absolutely mad,” Crowley said, disbelief clear in his voice. His eyes were round as coins, gold as the ring on Aziraphale’s finger.

“Let me put yours on,” Aziraphale breathed, taking the other ring from Crowley’s hand. It was cool and shining and when he slipped it on Crowley’s finger, Aziraphale’s heart thudded in his chest. Crowley was staring at the ring, breathing hard.

Unable to stop himself, Aziraphale gave Crowley another kiss, this one shorter, before shoving him out the door. 

“We will get married. We will eat at the feast and then I am going to fuck you until you can’t see straight,” Aziraphale said before shutting the door in Crowley’s shocked face.

He leaned back against the wood and took several deep breaths. He honestly had never felt so much in all of his long existence. He was going to get married. 

* * *

They married in the courtyard. Walter standing between them, hand resting on their bound hands as he said some words Crowley could barely hear because his heart was pounding so loudly. Aziraphale’s gaze flickered between the gathered crowd and Crowley, eyes glittering with unshed tears.

Everyone in the castle had come to watch the ceremony and a few stragglers from town who were unfamiliar to Crowley. Their gazes made him feel exposed, watched, under threat. Any minute something bad would happen. 

“I, Aziraphale,”—the sound of Aziraphale’s voice drew Crowley’s attention—“take thee Crowley to my wedded husband, till death us depart, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

A tear spilled over Aziraphale’s cheek and he gave Crowley a watery smile. Could your heart break from happiness? This couldn’t be good.

Walter kicked his shin and Crowley realized he’d just been gaping at Aziraphale, heart too caught up in the reality of the moment to do anything at all. Walter hissed, “Your turn.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand where they were bound together.

Crowley had fallen off a horse once. The moment in the air before hitting the ground had been terrifying, he’d been certain he would be discorporated. Staring down at Aziraphale’s liquid gray eyes, Crowley felt exactly like that—suspended before a crash.

“I—” Oh fuck, oh fuck. “Crowley, take thee, Aziraphale, to my wedded wife, till death us depart, and thereto I plight thee my troth.” His voice was a shuddering thing, thready and nervous and he’d be embarrassed if he was capable of any thoughts at all.

Aziraphale smiled, brighter than the sun and just as blinding.

“With that, I pronounce thee man and wife,” Walter announced, untying the binding and holding it into the air. A flash fellow, Walter.

Aziraphale tugged him into what was probably a highly inappropriate kiss, but Crowley was a bit distracted by the roaring in his ears. It was done. Man and wife. Partners. Lovers, truly.

Ah, fuck. He was happy. That’s what this was. Mind-numbingly, impossibly happy. 

* * *

Aziraphale didn’t want to get drunk at the feast despite the fact that everyone kept pouring him wine and trying to toast to his future happiness. What he wanted to do was drag Crowley off to his chambers and kiss him senseless. The look on Crowley’s face out in the courtyard would be burned into Aziraphale’s mind for the rest of existence. He’d looked shocked. Happy. 

They were married. And while it didn’t strictly matter for beings like them, it felt momentous.

Emony had kissed Aziraphale’s cheek after the ceremony and congratulated him warmly before retreating to her chambers to rest. Even Walter had gotten a bit misty-eyed when he hugged Aziraphale.

“I’ll miss having you here,” he said when he pulled back and Aziraphale realized he would miss being there. It had begun to feel quite like a home even though he’d only lived there a few years.

“I will visit,” Aziraphale said, quite tearful himself. “You couldn’t keep me away.”

But now they were in the great hall and the wine was flowing and Crowley was seated beside him _smiling_. He was smiling in a way he so rarely did, real and unashamed as they looked out over the folks who were significantly drunker than they were.

Aziraphale squeezed his knee under the table. “You look happy.”

“Well, I am sodding happy,” Crowley said, knocking their arms together. “Married now.”

Aziraphale smiled, full to the brim with a glowing joy he couldn’t stop even if he wanted. He loved seeing Crowley like this. Knowing he was the cause of Crowley’s happiness was just another wonderful thing he could hardly believe he deserved. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. No one was exactly paying attention but he thought it might be best to keep things chaste, given how his body was crying out for Crowley and one wrong move would probably have him tackling the demon to the ground.

Crowley didn’t seem to have the same concerns because he turned his head and captured Aziraphale’s mouth in a filthy kiss. Everyone was so drunk they didn’t notice. Aziraphale, caught up in the moment, slid his hand up Crowley’s leg and palmed at his half-hard cock.

He squeaked and grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist. “Bit much, that.”

Aziraphale pouted. When could they leave? 

As if reading his thoughts, Crowley dragged him to his feet. “Let’s sneak out of here. No one’ll notice. They’re all sloshed.”

Aziraphale didn’t need to be told twice. He wasn’t exactly in it for the bedding ceremony so he let Crowley drag him from the hall, not able to stop himself from distracting his _husband_ with kisses as they tripped up the stairs.

“You are a menace,” Crowley said between biting kisses traded against the wall of the stairwell.

“You love it.” Aziraphale gasped into Crowley’s mouth when he flicked his tongue against Aziraphale’s.

“Might do,” Crowley said with a smirk that Aziraphale absolutely had to kiss. 

“Your fucking dress,” Crowley said after, tugging at the skirts. “You’re killing me, angel.”

“I thought you’d like it. You’re so soft for romantic gestures. It’s adorable. I never would have pegged you for it.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “M’not soft.”

Aziraphale gave him a wicked grin that had Crowley already rolling his eyes. “Don’t say it.”

Aziraphale grasped Crowley’s cock. “I can see that,” he said anyway even as Crowley groaned at his joke.

They barely made it into the chamber before they started removing each other’s clothes, Aziraphale tugging at the laces of Crowley’s breeches so he could slip his hand inside. Crowley had no qualms about tugging down his bodice and rolling his breasts in his hands. His nipples really were deliciously sensitive and Crowley was so attentive, following the trail of his gasps and whines.

“Let’s get in bed, love,” Aziraphale said, wrapping his hands in the fabric of Crowley’s black tunic and tugging.

“What if I want to have you against the door?” Crowley asked, nuzzling into his neck.

“Well, I certainly won’t stop you,” Aziraphale said, voice shaking as his heart raced and desire pooled hot between his legs. He imagined Crowley pushing him against the wall and fucking into him from behind. Maybe he would pull his hair. Oh dear lord, he thought he might come just from the thought.

Crowley switched their position, pushing Aziraphale against the door, hiking his skirt up over his arse and squeezing it. Crowley’s hand settled between his shoulder blades and pushed him forward. “Just like that, angel,” Crowley said breathlessly as Aziraphale felt the steady press of Crowley’s cock slipping inside him.

He gasped and ground his arse against Crowley, a silent plea for more. 

“Good little angel. Taking it for me,” Crowley groaned and just like Aziraphale had hoped, he snapped his fingers, releasing Aziraphale’s braids so he could sink his hand into Aziraphale’s hair and hold him in place. The angle was perfect, each drag of his cock lighting up Aziraphale with pleasure. 

He cried out when Crowley suddenly slammed into him, picking up the pace without warning. Aziraphale was so wet he could hear it when Crowley pushed into him. An obscenely slick noise that had his scalp tingling. 

“Yes, Crowley, please,” Aziraphale babbled. He wanted to be taken apart like this. He wanted to come on Crowley’s cock. 

“Please what?” Crowley growled, grinding his hips against Aziraphale’s arse and stopping his steady thrusting. It made Aziraphale whine. 

“More,” Aziraphale gasped. 

“Like this?” Crowley asked, yanking Aziraphale back with one arm wrapped around him to splay his hand over Aziraphale’s chest. It made his back arch and then Crowley was fucking him hard. With his body curved, Crowley struck that perfect spot inside him that had him clenching down, orgasm coming over him in sudden waves. 

Crowley fucked him through it and then pulled out. Aziraphale didn’t want that. It made him feel empty, needy, desperate, even as strung out as he was.

“On the bed, angel,” Crowley said softly, releasing his hair and kissing the back of his neck as he herded him to the bed. Aziraphale stumbled in the direction he was being led and plopped down on the mattress, muscles liquid. 

“Let me look at you,” Crowley said, undoing the laces at the back of his dress so he could help Aziraphale out of it.

“What about you?” Aziraphale asked petulantly, trying his best to tug at Crowley’s tunic. He hadn’t come yet and Aziraphale thought that was quite unfair. He could suck him if Crowley would just take off his tunic. Crowley snorted. 

“Greedy,” Crowley admonished before kissing his shoulder. It made Aziraphale shiver. 

Crowley helped him out of his dress and pushed him back against the pillow before peeling off his own shirt and tunic. “Better?” Crowley asked, arching a brow in challenge.

Aziraphale hummed and spread his hands over Crowley’s chest, satisfied. “Much.”

* * *

The way Aziraphale looked at him sometimes...Crowley thought it would be the death of him. Reverent and loving and so sodding happy. Because of Crowley. Because they loved each other.

It was terribly hard to believe.

Crowley spread Aziraphale’s legs and nestled between them, his cock brushing against Aziraphale’s warm cunt as he leaned forward and kissed him again. Crowley was beginning to learn that Aziraphale kissed differently after he’d had an orgasm, slow and easy like he never wanted it to stop. More tongue usually.

Not that Crowley was complaining.

“Are you ready?” Crowley asked when he leaned back, heart thundering. Aziraphale really could do anything to him after a good kiss. And every kiss was good.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale asked, eyes fluttering open, unfocused. He looked deliciously well-fucked. And he was about to look even better.

“I’d like to fuck you again,” Crowley said, surprising himself. Awfully frank. Aziraphale really brought it out of him.

Aziraphale wiggled underneath him, arms coming up by his head as he let his legs fall open. “Go ahead. I’m quite ready, thank you.”

Crowley sank back into him, memorizing the look on Aziraphale’s face when he breached him. Crowley loved him so much that he felt his heart might burst with it. 

He didn’t last very long like this. Watching Aziraphale’s face as they made love was his undoing. He was just so expressive and so gorgeous.

After he came, he slipped out and settled his weight on Aziraphale’s welcoming body, happy when the angel’s arms came around and cradled him.

“I love you,” Crowley said into his neck and Aziraphale sucked in a shocked breath that made him pull away. “What?”

“You’ve just—” Aziraphale swallowed and swiped at his eyes. “You’ve just never said it before.”

Crowley frowned. “Bollocks. I said it in that letter.”

“Not out _loud_,” Aziraphale insisted, snuffling. “It’s very nice to hear.”

Crowley’s heart thumped painfully against his ribs. He’d already fucked up, not telling Aziraphale. What other mistakes would he make? He couldn’t think like that. They were happy. It was their wedding night. Aziraphale loved him. 

“Course I love you, angel. Love your cheeks.” Crowley kissed them. “Love your nose.” He kissed that too. “Love your mouth.”

Crowley sank into the final kiss as it grew hot and needy, Aziraphale rolling his hips up into him as Crowley settled between his legs.

“Love your neck,” Crowley said, kissing down Aziraphale’s body, pressing his lips against his stomach through the material of his chemise. “Love your little cunt too.”

Aziraphale kicked his feet slightly as he wrinkled his nose. “Crowley,” he whined.

“What? Too dirty for you?” Crowley said, slipping up the fabric of Aziraphale’s shift until it was bunched around his hips. “You seem to like when I give it attention.”

He flickered out his tongue over Aziraphale’s folds, just enough to tease. Aziraphale gasped and tried to grind down into the contact. Crowley wanted to pull away. He wanted to keep teasing. But mostly he wanted Aziraphale falling apart so he gave in and gave Aziraphale a long flat lick, swiping his tongue through his own spend as it dripped from Aziraphale’s body.

He got a little cry for his efforts. Very good. He’d hardly had enough of an opportunity to do this. He liked knowing everything he did brought Aziraphale pleasure. It made his cock twitch with want to think that Aziraphale was trusting him with this.

He sucked Aziraphale’s clit into his mouth, scraping lightly with his teeth before starting to lick him in earnest.

* * *

They settled against the pillows, both trying to catch their breath for a moment. Human corporations unfortunately had limits and they both needed a moment to recover. Aziraphale stared at the ceiling and took several deep breaths, floating as he was in the languorous aftermath of their coupling.

In the silence, Aziraphale looked over at Crowley, tracing the lines of his body with his eyes. He wondered what he would look like in a more feminine-shaped corporation and he felt a bolt of arousal between his legs at the sheer possibilities. He could play with Crowley’s breasts, his cunt. He’d certainly like that just as much. It was probably just Crowley that made him feel this way. In any form. Though he was quite fond of his current shape.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he plucked at the tie of his chemise and asked, “Would you want me? If I didn’t look like this?” 

“What do you mean, angel?” Crowley replied, soft as the touch of his fingers as they brushed over the sensitive skin of Aziraphale’s inner elbow.

“I normally look different, Crowley.” Aziraphale pushed through the wave of exhaustion that overcame him and said, “This is just for this assignment. Afterwards…”

Crowley tucked his head onto Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Aziraphale, you’re beautiful like this.”

Aziraphale sucked in a breath. Maybe Crowley only liked—

“But you were beautiful in robes on the wall and in a toga in Rome and in ermine in Wessex.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, staring up at the ceiling as his heart grew very full.

“I don’t think there’s any way you could be that I wouldn’t love you.”

Unable to take it anymore, Aziraphale pushed Crowley onto his back and climbed on top of him, sliding easily into a hot desperate kiss.

Crowley moaned into his mouth—always so responsive—and Aziraphale slipped his tongue inside to taste before pulling back to brush his fingers over Crowley’s forehead. 

“I believe your lady wife needs seeing to,” Aziraphale said, kissing Crowley’s nose.

Crowley laughed. “Oh does she? Did she tell you that? Perhaps I should go find her.”

Huffing in irritation, Aziraphale poked Crowley in the ribs which earned him a swat on the arse. 

“None of that now,” Crowley said, intensely serious even as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Just cause we’re married doesn’t mean you can _abuse_ me.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes before ducking his head and kissing him, deep and filthy. Crowley went pliant immediately. It made Aziraphale feel delightfully powerful. He skated one hand down Crowley’s bare chest, a sudden urge to see him taken apart flooding through him. 

“I wish I could fuck you,” Aziraphale said, surprising himself. Where had that come from?

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Why can’t you?”

Aziraphale fell to the side and covered his flaming face with his hands. “I shouldn’t have said that. How dreadfully embarrassing.”

Crowley’s hands wrapped around his wrists and tugged his hands away from his face. “I’m not opposed, angel. Can’t you just—” he wiggled his fingers at Aziraphale’s legs— “change?”

“No,” Aziraphale said, put out and embarrassed at the same time. “Heaven frowns upon unsanctioned body modification miracles. I was only able to change like this because they told me to.”

“Ah, suppose you don’t want to get a memo asking why you suddenly needed a cock,” Crowley said with a grimace.

“Yes, exactly,” Aziraphale said, somehow more embarrassed by Crowley’s understanding. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Crowley hummed before pressing a kiss to Aziraphale’s wrist and then his palm, a soft brush of his lips. “Well, it might not be a cock but you have these pretty little hands…” Crowley leaned forward and licked over Aziraphale’s mouth. “And this gorgeous mouth. They could do the trick.”

“Would you...would you like that?” Aziraphale asked, struggling to find words over the flare of lust at Crowley’s words. He could fuck Crowley with his hands, lick into him until he was _begging_.

“Oh, angel, I’d _love_ that,” Crowley said, looking up at him through his lashes, muted gold. “You had a man-shaped corporation for millennia. You have to know I had some...er...ideas about that.”

Aziraphale’s embarrassment melted, turning into something keen. “Oh, ideas? Did you think about my cock, Crowley?”

“I thought about a lot of things, alright?” Crowley said defensively. “You don’t sit around for a couple thousand years just _looking_ at you and not have any _thoughts_.”

Well, that was...sort of sweet. In a Crowley way. Aziraphale tangled their fingers together, rising up on his knees to kiss him briefly. “So what you’re saying is that you’d like me to stick my cock in you? And in lieu of that, my hands will do?”

Crowley made a shocked noise in his throat, eyes wide and he nodded so Aziraphale pushed him onto his back, throwing the sheet aside, thrilled to see that Crowley’s cock was already growing hard. 

Aziraphale gripped him in his hand loosely, stroking once and feeling him grow firm against his palm. His back arched, head thrown back against the pillow, a lovely flush starting up on his neck.

Aziraphale released him and ran his hands over Crowley’s chest, letting his chest hair tickle his fingers. His sternum was slightly damp, evidence of their last coupling, so Aziraphale leaned forward and licked it, tongue and nose suffused with salt and Crowley. He hummed when Crowley’s hand found it’s way into his hair, petting it lightly and pushing it back from his forehead.

“How do you want me, love?” 

Aziraphale’s heart skipped. _Love_. What a beautiful thing.

“On your belly, please,” Aziraphale said, sitting up on his knees. Subtle nerves were sparking in his gut but he ignored them. Crowley had looked so excited at the prospect. And judging by the dampness between Aziraphale’s legs, he was equally excited, nerves or no.

Crowley surged up and kissed him before obeying, turning over and providing Aziraphale with a view he realized he had not yet had the chance to appreciate.

“Oh, my dear,” he gasped, hand coming to rest in the dip of Crowley’s spine unbidden.

“You alright, angel?” Crowley asked, voice muffled against the sheets.

Aziraphale licked his lips. Where to start? He could bite Crowley’s gorgeous shoulder blades, trace the dimples of his back with his tongue. He was getting overwhelmed with options. Stick to the plan. 

“Yes, very good. More than. You’re simply...Crowley, you’re a work of art,” Aziraphale said, trailing his hand up and brushing his fingers over Crowley’s shoulder blades. 

Crowley twisted his head to the side, a scowl on his face. “Next time I have you laid out like this, I’m going to say shite like that and see how you like it.”

Aziraphale licked over Crowley’s hip, scooting down the bed and spreading his thighs. “You know I would love it.”

Crowley made a gurgling noise when Aziraphale squeezed the flesh of his arse. He was so spare, so thin. Aziraphale licked over his cheeks, soft hair tickling his face as he nipped at the sensitive flesh. Crowley gasped and wriggled against the bed so Aziraphale placed a firm hand in the middle of his back.

“Really, Crowley, I’m just getting started.”

“Well, it feels bloody good,” Crowley retorted, forcefully wiggling against him as if to prove a point. 

Aziraphale frowned even though Crowley couldn’t see him. If he was going to be like that, then Aziraphale would have to work harder. He had plans. Plans that involved Crowley sweating and begging against the pillow while Aziraphale fucked into him.

Aziraphale grabbed his hips, tugged him up on his knees and licked into him.

* * *

Crowley saw stars. Fuck. He hadn’t had this done to him in a very long time. And he should have known Aziraphale would be good at it. The way he ate food should have tipped him off that he’d be good at eating other things.

Aziraphale’s strength never failed to thrill Crowley and he couldn’t forget the fact with Aziraphale’s fingers digging into his hips, holding him in place tight enough to bruise. 

“Ah fuck,” Crowley gasped when Aziraphale did something new with his tongue—a fluttering press that allowed him to slip just inside. 

Then Aziraphale was biting the backs of his thighs and running a finger over his hole. 

“I believe we need some sort of slick, yes?” Aziraphale said. Fuck. That prim voice had Crowley’s cock jumping to attention, a bead of precome running down the head. 

“Olive...oil…” Crowley ground out as Aziraphale teased him with his fingers. Unfair was what it was. Crowley was going to do this to him. See how he liked it. Play with his little pink hole while he ate his cunt…

There was the telltale flash of ozone that signified an angelic miracle and then Aziraphale’s fingers were back against his hole, dripping with slick. “Oh, this is delightful,” Aziraphale remarked, sounding far too put together given how Crowley was already coming apart at the seams.

Aziraphale’s teeth sank into his hip as he pressed a single finger inside, delicate as anything. Crowley gasped at the intrusion, shocking yet not enough. Crowley remembered seeing Aziraphale in Rome, the pink skin of his pale arms. When he’d gone back to his lodgings that night, he’d brought himself off to images of those arms holding him down as Aziraphale fucked him into the bed.

The fact that he was even remotely close to realizing such a fantasy made Crowley reel with disbelief and pure want.

Aziraphale’s tongue fluttered next to his finger, pressing inside as well, and Crowley lost the ability to think clearly. It was just Aziraphale’s hot mouth and his soft hands, sending Crowley into the fucking stratosphere. 

* * *

Crowley was making noises better than anything out of Aziraphale’s dreams. When he swirled his tongue to the left, Crowley pressed up into his face. When he crooked his fingers just right, Crowley groaned. One day, Crowley would be groaning like that on his cock.

“Do you think you could take three, love?” Aziraphale asked, biting and licking at the flesh of Crowley’s arse, earning him a new and vaguely incoherent sound.

Crowley let out a long protesting groan when Aziraphale pulled away. “On your back, dear. I want to see your face.”

Aziraphale grasped Crowley’s hips and flipped him over. He was just as gorgeous as Aziraphale imagined, face red, eyes glassy, chest heaving. There was a sheen of sweat gathering on his chest and his cock was hard again. Aziraphale surged up his body, unable to resist kissing him.

Crowley’s kisses were sloppy and languid and Aziraphale secretly crowed at the knowledge that he had done that. 

“Would you like to come?” Aziraphale asked, sliding back down Crowley’s body to push his legs apart. He nosed at the underside of his cock and licked over his balls. Crowley cried out and his leg muscles spasmed under Aziraphale’s hands.

“I’ve got you,” Aziraphale said before ducking his head to suckle at Crowley’s perineum and tongue at his hole which was still slick with oil and Aziraphale’s own spit.

“Fuck,” Crowley hissed, hips bucking up into nothing. Aziraphale took pity on him, slipping his finger between Crowley’s cheeks and pushing back inside. He was so hot around Aziraphale’s finger. Aziraphale bit at his hips and then took his cock into his mouth. He tasted of precome and their lovemaking, bitter and filthy. It made Aziraphale feel debauched and he loved it.

Crowley seemed to love it too, broken desperate cries falling from his mouth as he scrabbled at the sheets. Aziraphale crooked his fingers in time with the movements of his head. He suckled at the tip of Crowley’s cock, satisfied when Crowley choked out a sob and came in his mouth. He managed to swallow most of it down but some dribbled down his lips.

Crowley palmed the nape of his neck with a shaking hand and pulled Aziraphale up his body, cleaning up the mess with short licks before kissing him, the slide of their tongues making Aziraphale moan.

“Your turn?” Crowley panted when they finally pulled apart. 

“What did you say that first night?” Aziraphale asked with a tiny smile. “My treat?”

Crowley laughed and magicked them clean. “Doesn’t sound like me. Selfish demon.”

Aziraphale snorted and tucked close to Crowley. “Selfish. Yes. Exactly how I’d describe you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive got 2 of the 3 remaining chapters written but im still working out the kinks! with my mechanic AU eating up a lot of brain space, work on this has slowed but it will get done! thanks for reading!
> 
> Edit: Blue_Sparkle drew the wedding scene including a gorgeous take on aziraphales dress  
You can see it [here](https://twitter.com/Valerie_Sparkle/status/1232435164233388032?s=19)


	11. Married Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by poetic_nonsense
> 
> this is the chapter ive been so hyped for FOR AGES because i think every romance novel deserves a good pegging scene
> 
> if you're curious, see endnotes for historical notes on dildos
> 
> Blue_Sparkle [drew some gorgeous art of this chapter](https://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/post/611251537689427968/getting-ready-to-get-down-to-business-3-based-on). it's NSFW and very very tasty.  
They also drew [the handfasting scene](https://tmblr.co/ZbM1IxXwdRAcyq00) from the last chapter and it actually made me cry. It's so wonderful.

Aziraphale quickly decided that being married was _amazing_. He and Crowley spent the entire day after their wedding in bed, trading kisses and soft words. More than anything, what thrilled Aziraphale was just how happy Crowley seemed.

"What do you want to do when we get to my keep?" Crowley asked after they sank into the bath. Crowley had snapped his fingers and summoned a lovely large tub of lavender-scented water the instant Aziraphale had complained about the effect all the lovemaking had on his corporation.

Of course, Aziraphale had had to thank him first before they could enjoy the bath.

Aziraphale sighed and slid down in the water until it reached his chin. "I'm not sure. Here I've been mostly spending my time teaching Emony and working with Walter. He hardly needs my influence. I suppose I'm at loose ends until spring when the fields will need my blessings."

Crowley idly traced circles on Aziraphale’s forearm. They were seated on opposite sides of the tub, legs tangled, but Crowley seemed reluctant to stop touching him. Not that Aziraphale minded.

"What about you, darling?" Aziraphale asked, tipping his head back and letting his eyes flutter shut.

"Not sure. Probably work more with Tim. He’s gotten a bit less hopeless since I was away. But now that I've got Margary handling most of the day-to-day, I’ve got a pretty clear schedule."

Aziraphale’s head snapped up, realizing Crowley probably didn’t know the delicious news Alice had shared. "Did you know about Alice and Margary?"

Crowley hummed inquisitively, sounding very comfortable indeed. "What about them?"

"They're _involved_," Aziraphale told him giddily and Crowley’s eyes went wide.

"Good for them. I'm sure your maid is happy to be coming along then."

"Oh yes," Aziraphale said. "And I'm sure Margary will be glad to have her around."

"I can’t believe I didn't notice" Crowley said thoughtfully, trailing his fingers up Aziraphale’s inner elbow and making him shiver.

"We were only at your keep for a handful of days."

"Margary moves fast then. Good girl," Crowley said with a wicked grin.

"Who's to say Alice didn’t make the first move?" Aziraphale protested.

Crowley wrinkled his nose which was swiftly becoming one of Aziraphale’s favorite expressions. It was just so cute.

"Fair point," Crowley said finally and Aziraphale thought he might be dropping the subject because his hand was steadily creeping up Aziraphale’s thigh.

Crowley cocked his head, eyes going dark. "Would you want to—"

Crowley didn’t have to finish the sentence because Aziraphale was already on him.

They may have soaked the floor in their enthusiasm but miracling it dry was no issue. Even if they forgot to do it until they'd spent a little more quality time in bed.

* * *

Crowley stared at Aziraphale’s things now taking up residence in his own bed chamber. They were...sharing their lives now.

Crowley swallowed thickly and sat down on the bed. Aziraphale was still downstairs, talking to Margary and discussing dinner. Or so he said. This left Crowley to slowly lose his mind.

They’d gotten married. Which was good. Beyond good. Best thing that had ever happened to him. They’d fucked fiercely for forty eight hours and by the end of it, Crowley was absolutely covered in Aziraphale. There was no place on his body that Aziraphale hadn’t touched. Their scents had mingled. The bed, an absolute mess.

And now they lived together. In Crowley’s keep. Sharing a chamber and _being married_ for Satan’s sake.

Crowley dropped his head into his hands as his heart made a very good effort to crawl out of his body with excitement. Happiness was terrible.

The chamber door creaked open. Aziraphale’s maid. Alice.

“Sorry, my lord,” she said, ducking her head. “Aziraphale requested you meet her downstairs.”

Crowley nodded, throat tight. Alice hesitated with her hand on the door.

“I know I don’t know you very well, but I wanted to say that I’m very glad things worked out with you and Aziraphale. This is the happiest I’ve seen her. She loves you very much and—” her voice wavered with obvious emotion. “Thank you for finding space for me in your household, milord.”

Crowley stood and waved off her thanks. “Aziraphale wanted you here so it was no trouble. She thinks highly of you.”

Alice looked very much like she might cry which Crowley did not like at all. He was not good with crying.

“I’ll go downstairs then,” Crowley said awkwardly, edging past her and rushing down the corridor.

* * *

Margary was walking Aziraphale through the status of the larder, explaining the whole thing easily. She was a very smart girl and did such an impressive job managing Crowley’s household.

Not able to hold back his curiosity, Aziraphale asked, “Do you know your letters?”

Margary looked at him sharply. “Yes. Why?”

“I’m just curious about where you learned. I was teaching Emony—Lord Walter’s wife.”

“I taught myself,” Margary said easily, leaving the kitchen and Aziraphale to stare after her. Aziraphale had met a few humans with minds like Margary’s but it never failed to astound him.

“No wonder Crowley put you in charge,” Aziraphale said as he trotted after her. “We’re lucky to have you.”

One corner of Margary’s mouth lifted into a smirk; she was pleased. “Sir Crowley is quite intelligent himself. Though he has no mind for numbers.”

Aziraphale laughed, seeing exactly why Crowley enjoyed Margary’s company so.

“Alice said you wanted me?”

Aziraphale turned and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of Crowley. It’s what it did all the time now. His husband. Goodness gracious, what a remarkable thing.

“Yes!” Aziraphale said, turning back to Margary. “Thank you, dear girl. If you’ll excuse me.”

Margary waved her off and busied herself speaking to the cook, which allowed Aziraphale to lead Crowley out of the kitchen and into the breezeway.

“What’s going on?” Crowley asked, a thread of concern in his voice.

Aziraphale tangled their hands together, smiling at the way his hand fit into Crowley’s. “What if I just wanted to see my husband?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “That’s not what you’re after.”

Aziraphale stood on his tiptoes so he could kiss Crowley, dipping his tongue inside his mouth briefly before pulling away. “It absolutely was.”

Crowley stared at him and then scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck, how are you so sodding perfect?”

Aziraphale smirked, drawing closer to Crowley so he could run his hand down his chest. “Perfect? Will you say that after I take you to the stables and fuck you?”

Crowley made a strangled noise and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand. “What is with you trying to have sex with me outdoors?”

Aziraphale pouted.

They didn’t make it to the stables, but luckily no one wandered into that section of the corridor while it was occupied.

* * *

Margary had manhandled Crowley into going out to check on the livestock, leaving Aziraphale to his own devices, which easily turned into pilfering Crowley’s best wine and getting drunk with Alice in Crowley’s study.

Without the silly social expectations of Walter’s household, Aziraphale was able to truly be friends with Alice. Sometimes she helped Aziraphale with his dresses or his hair, but that was mostly Crowley now. He seemed to take as much pleasure in putting Aziraphale together as taking him apart.

Alice, when drunk, became quite chatty and Aziraphale was just pleased to listen. She had opinions on everything, but mostly she seemed to want to gush about Margary. It really was very sweet, and a little bawdy if Aziraphale was perfectly honest. But he was becoming quite the fan of such things.

“She’s...she’s so good with her hands,” Alice said with a wide gesture. Her eyes were shining with drink and she seemed unable to control a grin. “You have _no_ idea.”

“I’m quite partial to Crowley’s hands myself,” Aziraphale began, slurring a bit. It had been a while since he’d been good and sloshed. “Though his mouth…”

Alice let out a groan and slumped back against the pillows on the bench. “Oh I know. That’s one of my favorites. But Margary also has”—Alice broke off and scrunched up her nose. She was so enthusiastic, clearly excited to finally have an understanding ear. “It’s some sort of leather thing shaped like a man’s...well.”

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open. When he and Crowley had discussed penetration, he hadn’t even thought of that! Five millennia on the earth and he’d forgotten about dildos. Really.

“It’s quite good,” Alice said with a grin. “I’m sure you know.”

“I do indeed,” Aziraphale said, already running through possibilities in his mind. If he recalled correctly, there had been quite the fashion in Rome where the women would use a series of straps to affix such a device to their body so they could…

Aziraphale was suddenly excessively excited for Crowley to return from the fields.

* * *

“Crowley, I have a very good idea,” Aziraphale said the minute Crowley walked into their chambers. He was sitting upright in the bed, just in his chemise, collarbones all on display and looking wonderfully inviting.

It had been a long day out in the fields with Margary, talking to all the farmers and being introduced to far too many cows. He didn’t need to know the cows’ names. People were going to eat them.

He shrugged off his surcoat and tossed it over the chair by the fire, snapping his fingers to light it. The look in Aziraphale’s eyes made his spine tingle. _Good idea_ in Aziraphale-speak could mean practically anything.

“Dildos,” Aziraphale announced with a bright grin. Crowley knocked into the chair and stumbled until he grasped at the bedpost to stay upright.

“What?”

“Dildos,” Aziraphale repeated merrily. “I forgot about dildos. It’s obviously the best solution to our penetration problem until I can change corporations again.”

Crowley dropped like a lead weight on the edge of the bed as Aziraphale held up a phallic object with a series of straps. His stomach performed some very serious turns as his cock grew hard in his breeches. He pictured the way Aziraphale would look in those straps and realized all at once that he was more than interested in the proposition.

He plucked the thing from Aziraphale’s hand. He supposed it was sort of a cock, a smallish and curved rod of stuffed leather. It was firm and Crowley briefly wondered what it would be like to fuck Aziraphale with it, watch that body take the object greedily.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, trailing his fingers over the leather.

Aziraphale blushed. “I miracled it up.”

Crowley laughed even though his heart was pounding, an ache starting in his gut at the thought of Aziraphale fucking him.

“Do you want to—”

“Yes,” Crowley said immediately.

Aziraphale’s expression grew dark and heated as he got out of the bed, coming to stand between Crowley’s legs. Crowley could see the dark outline of his nipples through the sheer fabric of his chemise. He leaned forward and sucked one into his mouth, humming as the fabric grew wet under his tongue.

Aziraphale moaned and carded his fingers through Crowley’s hair, a satisfying scrape of his nails eliciting Crowley’s own noise of pleasure. “Oh, love, you’re so good to me.”

“Are you going to fuck me, angel?” Crowley asked and Aziraphale grinned, the most predatory look he had ever seen on Aziraphale’s face.

“If you ask nicely,” Aziraphale said, crawling onto the bed and bracketing Crowley’s hips with his knees.

“How about a little treat first, hm?” Crowley asked, grabbing his hips and tugging him forward. He fisted the fabric of his shift up around his hips and settled Aziraphale on his chin so he could lick over him. “Tasty angel,” he said against Aziraphale’s cunt, pleased that Aziraphale’s thighs were already twitching.

He traced him lightly with the tip of his tongue and then gave him a flat lick, encouraging Aziraphale to move his hips and set the pace. It was so good to have Aziraphale moaning above him, juices dribbling down his chin as he fluttered his tongue against him.

Having Aziraphale pulsing, hot and swollen under his tongue was swiftly becoming one of Crowley’s favorite things. He made such delicious noises when Crowley licked him just right.

Crowley let Aziraphale fuck his mouth until his jaw ached—through two orgasms, thank you very much—before pushing him down and onto his back. A glorious sheen of sweat made Aziraphale glow, a few curls stuck to his cheeks as he panted. Crowley tore off his own shirt and snatched the array of straps from the side of the bed. “Can I put this on you?”

Aziraphale nodded so Crowley undid the buckles, moving between Aziraphale’s legs and pushing up his shift so he could wrap the straps around his thighs and hips. The way the dark brown leather laid against Aziraphale’s pale skin made Crowley’s cock fill. It was gorgeous. Crowley imagined the way he would look in more straps. Maybe tied up.

Crowley took a deep breath and focused, helping Aziraphale lift his hips so Crowley could slip the leather under him, finally affixing the belt around his belly. Crowley dipped his head and kissed Aziraphale’s hip, happy when Aziraphale carded his hand through his hair carefully.

The false cock stood proud from Aziraphale’s pelvis, a modest size that curved up towards Aziraphale’s soft belly. Crowley reached out and held it in his hand, mind whirring with possibilities.

“Is that comfortable?” he asked and Aziraphale wiggled his hips, making the cock jiggle.

Aziraphale nodded excitedly and sat up, pulling his shift over his head and giving Crowley a view of that luscious body, rolls and curves. He was beyond ready for Aziraphale to fuck him.

Aziraphale took his hand and tugged. Confused, Crowley let him lead him to his feet.

“I’d like to have you like this if that’s alright?” Aziraphale asked, turning him so that he was facing the bed, hands flat on the mattress. Aziraphale reached around and undid his breeches before pushing them down. Crowley kicked them away, already shaking with anticipation.

Aziraphale made an approving sound and ran the tip of the cock between his arse cheeks, teasing him carefully. Crowley’s hips jerked, prick rubbing against the sheets as he fisted his hands in the bedding.

“Yeah,” he squeaked. “That’s good.”

Aziraphale ran soft hands down his back, the light scrape of his nails raising goosebumps in their wake. “Can I lick you first? You seemed to like that.”

Crowley nodded thickly, unable to trust his voice as Aziraphale’s hands slipped between his thighs, spreading his legs.

“Hold still, darling. I’m going to make you feel good,” Aziraphale said, sounding quite breathless before Crowley heard him sink to his knees.

Crowley already knew he was entirely unprepared for what was about to happen so he gave up whatever desire he had to control himself and surrendered himself entirely to Aziraphale.

* * *

Aziraphale’s heart was racing as he knelt behind Crowley. He looked so fetching, pressed against the bed, and heat pooled between Aziraphale’s legs, the pressure of the leather straps against his sex not enough to give him the relief he was looking for but stimulating enough to make him ache.

Crowley was moaning at the first touch of Aziraphale’s tongue to the soft place where his arse met his thigh. Smiling into his skin, Aziraphale ran his nails over the sensitive skin behind his knees just to watch his hips stutter and hear him whine, high-pitched and needy.

Taking pity on him, Aziraphale pulled his cheeks apart to flicker his tongue over him, softly at first. It was how Crowley liked to take him with his mouth, teasing before he began to work in earnest. Several short flat licks later, Crowley was already pushing back into his face so Aziraphale closed his eyes and stopped teasing, fucking him open with his tongue.

The new sensation had Crowley’s back arching as he thrust into the bed, clearly trying to to find some friction. It would be no good if Crowley came so soon so Aziraphale grasped his hips and pulled back. “Hold still, love,” he gasped, realizing he hadn’t been breathing as oxygen rushed to his brain.

Crowley made a deep sound of complaint but obeyed, stilling his hips so Aziraphale could continue opening him up.

He placed one finger alongside his tongue, tracing the sensitive rim carefully before pulling back and summoning slick onto his fingers.

"Are you ready for my hand, darling?" Aziraphales asked, fluttering a finger against that tight ring of muscle.

"Yeah," Crowley squeaked.

"You love this, don’t you," Aziraphale breathed, working his finger in to the first knuckle and letting Crowley adjust.

Crowley whined and pushed back against his hand until Aziraphale was fully inside, slowly stretching him with a single finger. Running one hand over Crowley’s back to ground him, Aziraphale flicked his tongue beside his finger and carefully curled it. He might not be an expert on anatomy, but he knew enough, and he desperately wanted to make Crowley scream.

“Why are you going so bloody slow?” Crowley gasped, body trembling under Aziraphale’s attention.

“I’m trying to savor it,” Aziraphale said and pushed in a second finger. Crowley wailed and stopped talking entirely.

By the time Crowley was begging for more, Aziraphale was sopping. He slipped his own hand between his legs and rubbed over his clit, moaning at the sensation. He could have done this for ages, just looked at Crowley laid out on the bed, ready for him while Aziraphale fingered himself until he came.

As it was, he had other things in mind.

“Are you ready, love?” Aziraphale asked, standing up and slicking the cock strapped between his legs.

Crowley made a sound that was entirely vowels but seemed to be in the affirmative. Grabbing Crowley’s hips, Aziraphale pulled him up until he rested his weight on his elbows, arse poised perfectly for Aziraphale to rub the tip of the dildo over his cleft. What would it be like if it were Aziraphale’s cock?

Aziraphale didn’t know if it would be better, because watching the dark object press into Crowley might have been the most erotic thing he had ever seen.

“Jesus, fuck, shit,” Crowley said, gasping as Aziraphale sank in inch by inch.

Aziraphale rubbed his hands over Crowley’s back. “You take it so well. Relax for me, darling.”

Crowley whined again and pressed back against him until Aziraphale sank fully inside. Letting out a long groan, Crowley collapsed onto his face.

“I’m going to fuck you now.”

“Hrggggg,” Crowley replied.

Aziraphale withdrew carefully and pressed back in with an experimental thrust that had Crowley scrabbling at the bed. A delightful response, and Aziraphale wanted to see it again, so he pulled out entirely.

Crowley whined and Aziraphale pushed back inside, slowly fucking him over and over until Crowley was making noises Aziraphale had never heard before. And Crowley made a great deal of ridiculous noises. The movements of his own hips made Aziraphale’s muscles twist and pull in ways Aziraphale hadn’t ever felt and a low burn started up in his thighs as he continued thrusting into Crowley. It was so different. Aziraphale loved it.

Aziraphale leaned forward so he could run his hands over Crowley’s back. He wrapped his hands around his biceps and lifted him up so his torso was off the bed. That elicited a whole new series of noises that made Aziraphale pulse with need.

Aziraphale pulled out entirely. “On your feet. Hold onto the bed post.”

Crowley struggled to obey, hips languid as he gripped the bed post. “Fuck,” he said on a long breath, shoulders hunching forward as his knuckles went white.

Aziraphale lifted one of his legs to place it on the bed as he thrust back into him.

* * *

Crowley was fairly certain he still had a body, but only because he didn’t think he’d be able to feel so much if he’d been discorporated.

Aziraphale was pressed against his back, breasts against his shoulder blades as he rocked into Crowley with shallow thrusts. It was so _good_. Crowley felt possessed entirely, Aziraphale’s warmth surrounding him. Aziraphale _inside_ him.

With every few thrusts Aziraphale was dragging over his prostate and making Crowley certain he was about to come. But he wanted to see Aziraphale when he did.

Gathering his words, he stuttered, “On my..back. Can we…”

Aziraphale pulled out—which was bad—but then Crowley was on his back, being kissed—which was good.

“You’re so good to me. Letting me do this,” Aziraphale breathed, pushing his legs back and staring at him like he was a work of art.

Crowley sucked in a breath. His heart was going to shatter into a million pieces.

“Touch me, please,” Crowley begged, arching his back because his body was aching for more and Aziraphale was just sitting there.

Aziraphale’s eyes grew soft and he ran his palm over Crowley’s belly, before hooking his arms under his thighs to tilt his hips back. Settling one leg on his shoulder, Aziraphale lined himself up and sank back inside.

The sight of Aziraphale fucking him was something he was going to remember forever. His focused expression, the way his breasts and belly shook as he snapped his hips, the flush of exertion on his cheeks.

He came at some point, orgasm shuddering out of him without a hand ever touching his cock.

Aziraphale finally pulled out and then there were soft hands all over his body, warm as they pushed the hair back from his sweat damp forehead. Aziraphale was kissing him and Crowley would kiss back except he was definitely made of gelatin now.

“That was a success then?” Aziraphale asked and Crowley heard the snap and slip of buckles from Aziraphale’s side of the bed.

Crowley groaned. He was trying to say yes but his tongue was thick.

“Alright, love,” Aziraphale said as he laughed. “Let’s rest then.”

Crowley let himself be maneuvered closer to Aziraphale’s body just as Aziraphale snapped them clean and under the blankets.

“Rest now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) they would not have been called dildos at this time but via 'lead balloon' logic i thought it was hilarious and stuck with it  
2) dildos have existed since the dawn of time and strap ons almost as long. Take away? People love putting things inside them if they think it might make sex more exciting. We are simple animals.


	12. In the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks [theknittingjedi](mllekurtz.tumblr.com) and [poetic_nonsense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetic_nonsense/pseuds/poetic_nonsense) for the beta!
> 
> the next chapter is the epilogue! i hope you enjoy some bodice ripping shenanigans!
> 
> blue_sparkle drew some (nsfw) art for the last chapter that can be seen [ here](https://twitter.com/ThePartySparkle/status/1235324061095530497/photo/1)

The next morning, arse sore and body relaxed, Crowley helped Aziraphale get ready for his trip back to Walter’s for the week. Spring was coming and Aziraphale had work to do before the seasons changed entirely.

Nowadays, Crowley took care of braiding Aziraphale’s long hair and helping him into his dress. He loved every second. What was it about the minutiae of the everyday that had Crowley falling even more in love?

Aziraphale sighed happily as Crowley pinned his braids back. "This is the best assignment I've ever had."

"What do you mean?" Crowley asked, placing a final pin in Aziraphale’s hair and pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.

"I wouldn’t be here, after all, if Gabriel hadn’t told me to get married,” Aziraphale said lightly. Almost happily.

As if he wasn’t driving a knife into Crowley’s heart.

Crowley’s thoughts stuttered to a halt, happiness draining nauseatingly from him at Aziraphale’s words. Gabriel had told...had told him…

He pushed Aziraphale away, vision blurring as his emotions crashed down on him, anger and disbelief flooding through him. Of course. Of course Aziraphale had used him for an assignment. He’d been assigned to marry someone. Of course he had. Aziraphale hadn’t wanted this. Hadn’t wanted him. Probably never had. What had he told himself before they had gotten married? It was everything Crowley had been certain of, every anxiety he had tried to dismiss, come true.

“What? An assignment?” he choked out, voice hoarse. He clutched at the bedpost Aziraphale had pushed him up against the night before. He’d been a fool.

He couldn’t look at Aziraphale but he could picture his face, delicately concerned, confused.

“Darling, what’s wrong?”

Crowley’s hands were shaking. He sucked in a deep breath and snapped, “What’s _wrong?_”

Crowley had known it this whole time. He was an idiot. He’d let himself be convinced Aziraphale wanted this as much as he did, but he’d been right all along. It was just—it was just an assignment.

He collapsed numbly on the bed. His whole chest _hurt_. Demon’s hearts didn’t break. They couldn’t. At least Crowley didn’t think so.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he flinched away from it. “Don’t touch me,” he hissed. “I need you to leave.”

The bed dipped beside him as Aziraphale sat down and Crowley immediately felt soothed by the contact of his hand on his arm. Crowley jerked away, disgusted with his own response to Aziraphale’s nearness. How many years before he’d be able to lock that away?

“If Heaven told you to get married you should have chosen someone easier to use,” he spat, lurching to his feet and trying to find his breath. “Glad to know I was so convenient for you.”

“Convenient?” Aziraphale gasped and Crowley finally looked at him. The angel’s face was patchy red. He was getting angry. Crowley felt a vicious satisfaction.

“I’ve always been convenient. _Crowley’ll show up and help. I’ll just ask Crowley. He’s always at my beck and call._ Isn’t that right, Aziraphale?” Crowley snarled, stomach turning as he started to shake. Or maybe the world was shaking. Crowley didn’t think he’d be able to tell the difference. He was _so angry_.

“You’re being cruel,” Aziraphale said, standing up and squaring his shoulders. “I don’t know why this is so shocking to you. I told you I needed to get married.”

“Because _Walter_ asked. Not because Heaven _made_ you. You didn’t even want this. It was an _assignment._”

Aziraphale’s nostrils flared as he worked his jaw. “If you think that, you’re an idiot. I don’t know how else to tell you I love you. I need to go to Walter’s and when I come back I expect you’ll have calmed down enough to be reasonable.”

Of course Aziraphale would leave. Just like him. Nevermind that Crowley had told him to. That wasn't the point. No. 

Aziraphale stared at him for a long moment and then sighed. “I’ll say it again but I doubt you’ll actually listen.”

He stepped closer to Crowley, close enough that Crowley could feel his heat, taste the sunshine of him on the back of his tongue. “I love you, Crowley. I’ve chosen you and I will choose you. Walter told me to get married, Heaven said I should, but I _wanted_ you. I don’t think I’ve done anything since the moment our hands were bound that would make you believe otherwise.”

Crowley closed his eyes, heart aching. He hated this. He hated Aziraphale. He needed to be alone. “Maybe you should stay at Walter’s.”

Aziraphale gaped at him. “What—are you—”

“I think I need some time away from you,” Crowley said, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at Aziraphale.

He heard the angel suck in a breath.

“Fine,” Aziraphale spat. “If you want to throw this away, then fine.”

“I’m not the one in the wrong here,” he shouted back, rage lighting up every nerve in his body as he stared down at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale growled and turned on his heel, ripping open the chamber door before saying, “Do whatever you like. If you’re not going to believe me, then we’re through.”

“Then we’re through,” Crowley echoed, baring his teeth.

The door shut with a melancholy thud.

...Fuck.

* * *

Aziraphale changed into trousers and determinedly did not cry as he readied his horse to ride to Walter’s. Crowley was a bastard. An insensitive bastard. Here he was, jumping to the worst conclusions. As always.

The ride to Walter’s took under a day but it felt interminable with Aziraphale’s current mental state. He hated this. He wanted to turn around and hammer this out with Crowley. Fight and rail and figure it out the way they always did.

Except Crowley had acted like this was some sort of ending. And it broke Aziraphale’s heart.

In his distraction, Aziraphale didn’t notice the shadow in the underbrush. Not until it startled his horse, unseating him. Vision blurring, he thought he made out a mop of greasy brown hair and hands reaching out just before he lost consciousness.

* * *

Aziraphale came to with a dampness soaking through his breeches, head aching. He blinked his eyes open and his vision blurred before settling into the dim light. He was in some sort of wooded area and the wet stuff beneath him was a carpet of rainsoaked leaves. His back was pressed against the trunk of a tree, his hands and legs bound.

He groaned. This _would_ happen.

“You’re awake, then.”

Aziraphale searched out the source of the voice and immediately regretted twisting his neck so quickly. His heart hurt something fierce.

Tending to a small fire was a man in tattered robes. He looked vaguely familiar and Aziraphale frowned, trying to place his face, pinched nose and dark eyes.

“I apologize for my method but I knew you would not come willingly,” the man said, unfurling to his full height. He was thin and rat-faced and Aziraphale’s fuzzy mind struggled to focus. His vision was blurry as he watched the man approach the tree Aziraphale was propped against.

“Excuse me sir, there must have been a mistake. If you’re from these parts, you must know I am Lord Walter’s cousin and Sir Crowley’s wife of late,” Aziraphale said, trying to play up the innocent maiden aspect. He widened his eyes and looked pleadingly at the man. It was the sort of look that had had Crowley scrambling to please him.

Guilt pinched in his gut at the thought of Crowley. He ignored it. Crowley was being ridiculous! He’d been a right arse to Aziraphale over something he didn’t even need to be angry about even if Aziraphale hadn’t been totally honest…

Oh bugger.

“You are the same maid who attacked me in Swaffham. The one in the demon’s thrall,” the man said, breaking into Aziraphale’s thoughts. His words made Aziraphale realize who he was. That wretched priest, Rodrick.

How had Aziraphale forgotten to wipe his memory?

He supposed he had been a bit distracted by Crowley because he’d been rather nude.

“I assure you, sir, I am in no _demon’s_ thrall,” Aziraphale said, unable to keep a measure of huffiness from his voice.

“You have married the demon Crowley. He has you under his control,” Rodrick said and then his face twisted into something Azirphale thought might be an approximation of pity. “It is unfortunate I must tell you this way. I tracked him after he escaped and heard tales of the Red Serpent and his beloved bride. He is using you for his foul ends and must be cast back to Hell.”

What was unfortunate was that Aziraphale wasn’t allowed to use miracles in front of humans. If he were, he’d be halfway across the clearing and happily in Walter’s keep where he could spend the evening sulking about Crowley.

Instead of being tied to a tree in the growing dark.

Rodrick clucked his tongue. “I know it must be difficult to believe, but I’ve brought you here to lure him. You are the perfect bait. A demon’s wife. He is bound to you and will not leave you alone for long. Once he’s destroyed, you will be free.”

Aziraphale fought valiantly not to roll his eyes. This was ridiculous. He wondered if he’d get a reprimand for making a tree branch fall on Rodrick’s head.

* * *

Aziraphale was a prick. A liar. He’d let Crowley think—

Crowley yelled and threw his pillow across the room. He just wanted to not feel the clawing in his chest. Everything hurt. Heart, lungs, stomach.

“Milord.”

Crowley sat up in bed, ready to snap at whoever had decided to open his door. Alice. Why was Alice still there? She always went with Aziraphale.

Margary edged in behind her with a deep frown on her face. It set Crowley’s nerves scuttling.

“Have you seen Aziraphale?” Alice asked. “We were supposed to leave at noon—”

Crowley lurched to his feet, already hissing. “She left early. Why didn’t you go with her?”

Margary slipped in front of Alice, shoulders back. “Milord, calm down.”

Crowley shoved his hands in his hair and groaned before taking several deep breaths. This wasn’t their fault. Aziraphale was the one who made him feel this way. He needed to fuck off to the continent and forget about it. Maybe a few years drunk or asleep would do the trick.

“It’s not my problem,” Crowley snapped.

“She is your wife,” Alice shouted in a tone that somehow managed to make Crowley feel ashamed.

“Fine. Go after her. Take Tim so you’re not alone,” Crowley said with a dismissive wave even as worry threaded through him. Aziraphale wasn’t usually quite so careless as to leave his maid behind.

Alice glared at him and then turned on her heel in a huff, skirts swirling as she stomped out of his chambers. Margary stayed behind, a disappointed look on her face.

“Why are you fighting with Aziraphale?” she asked, tone brooking no argument.

“We’re not fighting,” Crowley said petulantly. He could pack his things in an instant if he wanted. Get away. Get out. Stop feeling anything whatsoever.

“I don’t know why she puts up with you,” Margary said, shaking her head. “You’re obviously lying. Whatever you did that had Aziraphale rushing off without Alice was most likely stupid and unnecessary. Would you like to tell me or would you like to sulk?”

Crowley bared his teeth, ready to lash out but then he met Margary’s eyes and shame coursed through him.

He opened his mouth to say something but before he could Alice and Tim appeared, the latter red faced and terrified.

“It’s Lady Aziraphale,” Tim gasped through heaving breaths. “Her horse came back. Without her.”

Crowley’s blood ran cold.

* * *

Crowley hadn’t turned into a snake in quite some time. That didn’t mean he couldn’t, just that it took a few tries.

He took himself off into the woods where he finally managed it, flickering out his tongue to scent the air. This would be the best way to find Aziraphale even if it felt a bit ridiculous.

He traced the ozone and sunshine scent down the main road, keeping to ditches and fields until the scent trailed off into the woods, mingled with something sour and awfully familiar.

Smelled like a priest.

* * *

Rodrick liked to chatter. Unfortunately, he had nothing interesting to say. Lots about demons and his holy purpose. He seemed a bit of a zealot.

“I’ve personally exorcised over thirty demons,” Rodrick crowed and Aziraphale tried his best not to roll his eyes. “They must be terrified of me in Hell.”

“Surely,” Aziraphale said, tugging on his bonds again. A small miracle wouldn’t go amiss. The paperwork might be worth it just to not have to listen to this man drone on for hours.

Aziraphale heard a slight rustling of something disturbing the leaves and then he saw Crowley. Or what he thought was Crowley. Large black snakes didn’t exactly belong in this part of England. His heart leapt into his throat. Of course Crowley would come. Fighting or no, Crowley always showed up.

Crowley appeared behind Rodrick, scales fading as he transformed. His eyes were fully yellow and Aziraphale could see a hint of fang when he grabbed the back of the man’s tunic and slammed him into the nearest tree.

“Demon!” Rodrick cried. “I knew you’d come for your bride.”

Crowley growled and Aziraphale saw the glint of a knife.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale admonished. “Don’t kill the man.”

“Why not?” Crowley snapped. “He’s a kidnapping bastard.”

“Just, I don’t know, wipe his memory and send him on his way.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Fine. I christen you Alan, you’re a very talented baker and you grew up in Bury St. Edmunds. You’ll do fine there.”

He snapped his fingers and Rodrick disappeared.

Aziraphale sighed with relief and undid his bonds with a thought. “How irritating.”

Crowley was by his side before Aziraphale could even blink, dropping to his knees in the dirty wet leaves and cradling his face in his hands. “Angel, you’re hurt,” he said, brushing Aziraphale’s hair back from his face.

Aziraphale winced when his fingers came in contact with the goose egg forming on his forehead. He was certain it had bled a bit too. “It’s fine. I’ll heal,” he said dismissively, standing and brushing his trousers free of the worst of the mushy leaves and dirt. This was awful and he was tired and he just wanted to be where it was warm and dry.

Crowley leapt to his feet, already sneering. “I see how it is. I come rescue you like always and you brush it right off.”

Aziraphale had meant to apologize again. To explain himself but Crowley’s tone stoked the anger in his gut. Aziraphale put his shoulders back and glared at him.

“I am not _brushing you off_. My head hurts and this is all absolutely ridiculous,” Aziraphale snapped. He wanted to get to Walter’s, do his work, drink some of his good wine, and forget about this whole thing. He could apologize tomorrow when Crowley was willing to be reasonable.

“Ridiculous,” Crowley parroted, all bared teeth and tight shoulders as he prowled closer to Aziraphale. “I’m glad you find this all ridiculous.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Aziraphale spat, miracling a new leather strap for his hair. It was dirty too. He plucked out a twig as he tugged it back. “Where’s my horse? I need to get to Walter’s. And you can go have your tantrum back at your keep.”

“Oh, you’re so righteous. Acting like I’m in the wrong. Does that make you feel better?”

Crowley was so close now. Aziraphale could smell the smoky heat of him. His serpentine eyes were blazing, entirely yellow, nostrils flaring, sharp teeth bared. Aziraphale exhaled shakily, trying to hold his ground.

“I’m not the one overreacting,” Aziraphale responded, trying to sound harsh but failing miserably because Crowley was so close and Aziraphale’s blood was roaring in his ears and—

They were definitely kissing now and Aziraphale had probably started it but he wasn’t going to admit that. It was a violent clash of tongues and teeth as Crowley yanked him against his body with no consideration for the fact that he had recently been walloped on the head. Aziraphale didn’t care. He could be dizzy for more than one reason.

Crowley tore his mouth away and bit Aziraphale’s neck, harder than he ever had before, making Aziraphale cry out and tremble in his arms.

“Fuck me,” Aziraphale whimpered when Crowley pressed him against the tree he’d been so recently tied to.

With what had to be a bit of demonic magic, Crowley lifted him by his arse until he wrapped his legs around his back. Crowley was still sucking bruises into his neck when he snapped his fingers and Aziraphale found himself quite suddenly without his braies. He scrambled between their bodies to free Crowley from his trousers and moaned his assent as Crowley sank into him all the way to the hilt.

Aziraphale scratched the tree bark behind him, trying to find purchase as Crowley fucked him, angry and violent. Every thrust sent sparks off behind Aziraphale’s eyes until he was nearly incoherent. All he could feel was just the hard press of the tree against his back and the bruising pace of Crowley’s hips.

Sharp teeth sank into the juncture of his neck and Aziraphale cried out, body spasming as his orgasm crashed into him suddenly. He tore at Crowley’s tunic, rending the fabric in two as Crowley continued to fuck him mercilessly. The harsh movement pushed him over the edge again, painful and shocking. He clung to Crowley, breathing hard as he finished inside him.

Only then did Aziraphale realize Crowley’s arms were shaking. He let his feet hit the ground and Crowley pulled him close.

“Fuck,” Crowley said, breath hot against his ear. Aziraphale put his arms around him hesitantly, still reeling from the intensity of his orgasms. His muscles felt liquid, vision blurry.

Or maybe that was the head wound.

“Darling, are you alright?” Aziraphale asked once Crowley’s breathing evened out.

Crowley grunted, but his arms tightened around Aziraphale.

“I think perhaps we should talk,” Aziraphale said, purposefully extracting himself from Crowley’s embrace as they both put themselves back together.

“I’m still mad at you,” Crowley said immediately, jaw going tight. Aziraphale pushed down the swell of anger inside himself.

He had known Crowley for a very long time. In the scope of that, they had only been in love for a short period, but Aziraphale thought he was finally coming to understand him as well.

He took one of Crowley’s hands. “Love, I should have told you about Heaven’s orders. At the time I thought it lucky. I could do my duty and also be with you. I didn’t realize you might perceive it differently and that was thoughtless of me.”

Crowley frowned at their joined hands.

“You’ve been anxious about this since it began,” Aziraphale said. “And if...if you don’t want it, or if you feel I’ve put you in a corner, I can—we don’t need to live as if we were married.”

Just the thought tore at Aziraphale’s heart but they needed to be on the same page. They both needed to want this. He had thought Crowley was just as dedicated as he was, but perhaps he had misread the situation.

“Fuck, no,” Crowley said and then he groaned, hands flying into his hair as he started to pace. “I’m absolute _shite_ at all this.”

Aziraphale stepped closer to him, oddly feeling like he was calming a wild animal. “I love you. I really do. And I didn’t realize this would hurt you. I understand if you don't -”

“Of course I bloody love you! I think I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you but I’m not good at this. I’m going to ruin it. I’ve already ruined it. It’s just so sodding difficult,” Crowley said, eyes wild even as Aziraphale tugged at his arm so he’d stop pulling on his hair.

“You haven’t ruined it. We’ve had a fight,” Aziraphale said, trying to keep his voice calm despite how loud his heartbeat was. “Things can be difficult _and_ good, Crowley. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“If you aren’t a living example of that then I don’t know what is,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes but there was something playful about it. It was then that Aziraphale realized they would be fine.

“Being together is not going to be easy, but we have to be on our side. Can you do that?”

Crowley swallowed. “I think I’ve always been on your side, angel. Just didn’t realize you wanted me there.”

“Can I kiss you, please?”

Crowley nodded and Aziraphale tugged him down into a kiss that made every one of his nerves flutter. It evolved quickly into something messy and needy and Aziraphale pressed him closer to the fire and down onto the ground. He pushed off his ripped tunic and got to work on Crowley’s trousers, already aching for him.

Crowley laughed suddenly and Aziraphale gave him a sharp look. “Nothing,” Crowley said, still laughing. “It’s just...you’re probably pleased as anything. We’re having sex outside twice.”

Aziraphale groaned his irritation but kissed him anyway.


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an epilogue!  
thanks [theknittingjedi](mllekurtz.tumblr.com) and [poetic_nonsense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetic_nonsense/pseuds/poetic_nonsense) for being wonderful betas on these last few chapters!

The Arrangement was much easier now that they were married. Sharing assignments more often began to look like doing them together, staying at the same inns, posing as a married couple, confirmed bachelors, a pair of nice spinsters. Anything for them to be together.

They left England in the mid thirteenth century, telling Walter and Emony that they wanted to settle in Spain. They left Crowley’s lands to Tim who had certainly become a much better swordsman and who happily allowed Alice and Margary to live together, married in all but name.

The first time Crowley called Aziraphale his husband was when they came back together just after Aziraphale returned from an assignment in Athens in 1321, once more in his man-shaped corporation. 

Crowley, true to his word, had not faltered in his desire for Aziraphale. In fact, his enthusiasm for Aziraphale’s new shape was so intense that Aziraphale asked after it.

“What do you expect?” Crowley had said flopping beside Aziraphale after their third round of the day. “You’ve looked exactly like this for five thousand years. I had a very specific fantasy, you know.”

“Oh really?” Aziraphale replied, reaching out to palm one of Crowley’s hip bones. It was strange, adjusting to being larger than Crowley. So much of him fit in Aziraphale’s hands. Aziraphale still had to tilt his head back to kiss him but their height difference was hardly noticeable.

Crowley didn’t seem to mind in the least.

“Fantasies, you say?” Aziraphale asked, blanketing Crowley with his body as he began to nibble on his collarbones. “Care to share?”

Crowley opened beneath him so nicely as they traded kisses. “Mostly you ravishing me over the nearest surface.”

“Really?” Aziraphale said with a smirk. “I thought you would be thinking about doing the ravishing.”

“Alright,” Crowley admitted, pushing Aziraphale onto his back and slotting himself between his legs with a slithering motion of his hips. “A bit of both.”

And then they didn’t speak for quite some time.

Aziraphale was first able to call Crowley his wife at the turn of the 19th century. She’d marched into the bookshop in the fashion of the day, collarbone all on display with ribbons in her hair, before being true to her word and ravishing him against the nearest surface.

That was a nice twenty years, running a business with Crowley, attending parties and having everyone treat them exactly as they were: married.

As the centuries had drawn on, direct assignments grew fewer and fewer, head office leaving them on their own for the most part. And so Crowley gave up his flat across town and moved into the bookshop. 

They fought something awful in 1862 when Crowley’s anxiety got the better of him and he asked Aziraphale if they should keep holy water on hand.

That fight had ended with a rather raucous bit of sex in a carriage once Aziraphale apologized for overreacting and Crowley had shoved his hands down his trousers, desperately gasping out his own apology. “Let’s not fight again. Thought I wouldn’t see you for years.”

The coachman had studiously avoided eye contact when they dismounted. 

Several years later, at the 100 Guineas Club, Crowley had teased him while he learned the Gavotte, happy to stand on the sidelines and watch as Aziraphale enjoyed himself. And perhaps they enjoyed each other in a few dark corners, but no one particularly cared.

The apocalypse was always going to happen. The question was only how they’d handle it. And maybe in another life, one where Aziraphale had never admitted to his feelings, they would have fought and failed at their efforts over and over. But they had stood up together and when Crowley got scared - wanted to run off - Aziraphale pushed on.  _ It’s for Earth, Crowley. For humanity _ . And, like always, Crowley had found his courage even in the darkness.

And so the world continued to turn. 

After the apocalypse, they’d gone and registered their marriage for the sake of it. But mostly as an excuse for a honeymoon, renting a cottage in the South Downs which they only left for food and to increase their supply of wine. 

That week they’d discovered how truly creative humans had gotten with their sex toys. And also how good Aziraphale looked in lacy scraps of nothing.

Well, so Crowley said, and that was really the only person Aziraphale was out to impress.

They loved the place so much that ten years later, when the city began to lose its lustre, they bought it and began the arduous process of moving a portion of their things out of the bookshop. Not that they would close down entirely, but A.Z. Fell and Co was about to see even more time with its door shut than it ever had before.

They were unpacking one of the many boxes of Aziraphale’s books when Aziraphale pulled out a copy of Le Morte d'Arthur and smiled at the cover. All that medieval romance did always bring back good memories.

The book fell open and revealed a blue ribbon, dirty and frayed with age. Aziraphale gasped.

“Crowley!”

Crowley’s head popped up over the stack of boxes across the room. “Yeah?”

“How did you…”

Crowley crawled over on his hands and knees to see what Aziraphale was asking about. He blanched and snatched the book out of Aziraphale’s hands.

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale said warningly. “None of that.”

“Look, it’s not a big deal,” Crowley said. So easily embarrassed, Aziraphale’s beloved demon.

Aziraphale looked at him, knowing that if he waited long enough, Crowley would cave.

“It was just...I went back to Swaffham. Right after. Got the blasted thing back. You made it and I thought...I was pretty sure I’d never get anything else from you.”

Tears pricked at the back of Aziraphale’s eyes. He’d forgotten how certain Crowley had been that he was alone in this feeling. 

“Obviously I was wrong,” Crowley said with a weak laugh.

Aziraphale plucked the book from his hand and carefully set it aside. Perhaps Crowley could benefit from a little game. Maybe they both could. “We haven’t switched things up in a while.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at him. “What are you trying to say, Aziraphale?”

“Just that...it might be fun,” Aziraphale began, blinking at him coquettishly, satisfied when Crowley started to grow red. “To do a little playacting.”

“Wha-what?” Crowley stammered. It was so nice that, even after nearly eight hundred years, Aziraphale could still undo him so easily.

“Well, you could be the Serpent. And I could be the lady.”

With a rather dramatic miracle, Aziraphale changed his shape to match what he’d looked like all those centuries ago with a nice dress to match, something almost like his wedding dress, red serpents winding through its folds. He put his hands on Crowley’s chest, grasping his tie in his fingers and pushing him back against the floor so he could straddle him. “Would you like me to take you like this? It’s been an awfully long time since I’ve had anything other than a penis, so I think it would be quite nice.”

Crowley’s hands were already on his hips, kneading his flesh. 

“Maybe I should change things up more often,” Aziraphale said, leaning forward and letting his hair curtain Crowley’s head. “You seem to like this quite a bit.”

Crowley’s hand went into his hair, palm cupping the back of his head. “I forgot what you looked like in this shape. Your hands are so small.”

“I’m sure we’ll make do,” Aziraphale said before kissing the disbelieving laugh from Crowley’s mouth.

Even after all these years, kissing Crowley felt like coming home. A warm hearth, a welcoming bath. It soothed Aziraphale as much as it excited him.

Reaching between them, Aziraphale undid Crowley’s rather tight jeans and wriggled them down his hips. Crowley grasped his waist and rolled him onto his back, kissing over his collarbones. 

“How do you want me, love?” Crowley asked, hands skating over Aziraphale’s thighs, pushing his skirt up until it fell about his waist. Crowley looked down and smirked as he touched Aziraphale’s sex. “I see you went for historically accurate. No knickers.”

Aziraphale moaned and tried to grind down against his hand. He’d forgotten how responsive he could be like this. His nipples tightened in his bodice and his whole body flushed. 

Crowley pressed one finger inside him experimentally and grinned when Aziraphale’s hips bucked. “I think my mouth, yeah? You always liked that.”

Aziraphale’s back arched as he cried out. “Oh, Crowley, anything. Please.”

Needless to say they forgot all about unpacking. At least for a while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I want to thank everyone who read this story, recced it, screamed at me in the comments, and supported this slightly silly and (hopefully) sweet AU. Coming into the Good Omens fandom I never expected to write a bodice ripper and yet here we are five months later and 60k deep. I love all of you and thank you for your support.
> 
> Second, dear Blue_Sparkle, your art of various chapters (especially the spicy bits) has been so inspiring and whether you can tell or not, definitely influenced how I wrote certain chapters. It has all been so gorgeous and I can't thank you enough. 
> 
> Finally, I can't believe this is over. I've been writing this AU for a very long time, through ups and downs, and it's been so fun even when it was difficult.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> [you can find me on tumblr here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com)


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